Questing Heart
by Firegirl210
Summary: You may have read The Hobbit, and you may have seen the movies, but you've never heard the whole story. This is the tale of how a Hobbit went on an adventure, made friends, fought a Dragon, and fell in love. Slow burn Bagginshield, first in a two story series. Different ending than the book!
1. An Unexpected Meeting

**Hello Hobbitses! Thank you for opening this tale! **

**So this fic is something of a frankenstein's monster as far as where the content comes from. A lot of the beginning will be from An Unexpected Journey with bits of The Hobbit and also bits from my brain. We will more or less follow the Desolation of Smaug with a few alterations and then return to the book for the grand finale. However it may not have the ending you remember…**

**I don't own any of these wonderful characters, that honor rests with our dear Mr. Tolkien. I just take them and make them do my bidding. Sorry, JRR. Poor man is probably rolling in his grave. **

**Thanks to MidnightWingWolf for helping me get through this, she is my rock and my best friend. **

**Read, Review, and Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter One: An Unexpected Meeting**

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats - the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill - The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it - and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens, dining-rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the left-hand side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deep-set round windows looking over his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down to the river.

This hobbit was a very well-to-do hobbit, and his name was Baggins.

My name was Baggins, that is, because this is my story, a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. I may have lost the neighbours' respect, but I gained-well, you will see whether I gained anything in the end. I certainly lost as well, but I'm getting ahead of myself now.

The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking.

My mother however was the fabulous Belladonna Took, one of the three remarkable daughters of the Old Took, head of the hobbits who lived across The Water, the small river that ran at the foot of The Hill. It was often said (in other families) that long ago one of the Took ancestors must have taken a fairy wife. That was, of course, absurd, but certainly there was still something not entirely hobbit-like about them, and once in a while members of the Took-clan would go and have adventures. They discreetly disappeared, and the family hushed it up; but the fact remained that the Tooks were not as respectable as the Bagginses, though they were undoubtedly richer. Not that Belladonna Took ever had any adventures after she became Mrs. Bungo Baggins. Bungo, my father, built the most luxurious hobbithole for her (and partly with her money) that was to be found either under The Hill or over The Hill or across The Water, and there they remained to the end of their days.

Still it is probable that I, her only son, although I looked and behaved exactly like a second edition of my solid and comfortable father, got something a bit queer in my makeup from the Took side, something that only waited for a chance to come out. The chance never arrived, until I was grown up, being about fifty years old or so, and living in the beautiful hobbit-hole built by my father, until I had in fact apparently settled down immovably.

By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the world, when there was less noise

and more green, and the hobbits were still numerous and prosperous, and I was standing at my door after breakfast smoking an enormous long wooden pipe that reached nearly down to my woolly toes (neatly brushed) - A wizard came by. A wizard! If you had heard only a quarter of what I have heard about him, and I have only heard very little of all there is to hear, you would be prepared for any sort of remarkable tale. Tales and adventures sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion. He had not been down that way under The Hill for ages and ages, not since his friend the Old Took died, in fact, and the hobbits had almost forgotten what he looked like. He had been away over The Hill and across The Water on business of his own since we were all small hobbit-boys and hobbit-girls.

All that unsuspecting little me saw that morning was an old man with a staff. He had a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, a silver scarf over which a white beard hung down below his waist, and immense black boots.

"Good morning!" I said, and meant it. The sun was shining, and the grass was very green. But the man looked at me from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat with a frown.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good

morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is morning to be good on?"

"All of them at once," I supposed. "And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors. If you have a pipe about you, sit down and have a fill of mine! There's no hurry, we have all the day before us!"

I sat down on a seat by my door, crossed my legs, and blew out a beautiful grey ring of smoke that sailed up into the air without breaking and floated away over The Hill. I took some amount of pride in my smoke ring blowing abilities, as that was a fully respectable pastime.

"Very pretty!" said the grey bearded man. "But I have no time to blow smoke-rings this morning. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone."

"I should think so in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty, disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can't think what anybody sees in them," I grumbled, stuck one thumb behind my braces, and blew out another even bigger smokering. What this odd man was doing on my doorstep of all things I couldn't guess. So I took out my morning letters and began to read, pretending to take no more notice of the old man. If I ignored him, perhaps he would go away. But he did not move. He stood leaning on his stick and gazing at my curly head without saying anything, till I began to get quite uncomfortable and even a little cross.

"Good morning!" I said rather forcefully at last. "We don't want any adventures here, thank you! You might try over The Hill or across The Water." By this I meant that the conversation was at an end.

"What a lot of things you do use Good morning for!" said the wizened man with a bit of a laugh. "Now you mean that you want to get rid of me, and that it won't be good till I move off."

"Not at all, not at all, my dear sir!" I amended quickly, not wanting to seem rude, "I don't think I know your name?"

"But I know your name, Mr. Bilbo Baggins. And you do know my name, though you don't remember that I belong to it. I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means me! To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took's son, as if I was selling buttons at the door!"

"Gandalf, Gandalf! Good gracious me! Not the wandering wizard that gave Old Took a pair of magic diamond studs that fastened themselves and never came undone till ordered? Not the fellow who used to tell such wonderful tales at parties, about dragons and goblins and giants and the rescue of princesses and the unexpected luck of widows' sons? Not the man that used to make such particularly excellent fireworks! I remember those! Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve. Splendid! They used to go up like great lilies and snapdragons and laburnums of fire and hang in the twilight all evening! Dear me! Not the Gandalf who was responsible for so many

quiet lads and lasses going off into the Blue for mad adventures. Anything from climbing trees to visiting Elves - or sailing in ships, sailing to other shores! Bless me, life used to be quite inter - I mean, you used to upset things badly in these parts once upon a time. I beg your pardon, but I had no idea you were still in business."

I tried to keep the awe from my voice, but was honestly more than a bit flabbergasted. Gandalf, a character of bedtime stories and tall tales was standing on my doorstep.

"Where else should I be?" said the wizard. "All the same I am pleased to find you remember something about me. You seem to remember my fireworks kindly, at any rate, and that is not without hope. Indeed for your old grandfather Took's sake, and for the sake of poor Belladonna, I will give you what you asked for."

"I beg your pardon, I haven't asked for anything!" I declared, flustered, and his blue eyes twinkled in that particular way of his.

"Yes, you have! Twice now. My pardon. I give it you. In fact I will go so far as to send you on this adventure. Very amusing for me, very good for you and profitable too, very likely, if you ever get over it."

I stammered and gasped much like a fish on the banks of the river, not liking the direction this conversation was taking at all.

"Sorry! I don't want any adventures, thank you. Not today. Good morning! But please come to tea any time you like! Why not tomorrow? Come tomorrow! Good-bye!" With that I turned and scuttled inside my round green door, and shut it as quickly as I dared, not to seen rude. Wizards after all are wizards.

"What on earth did I ask him to tea for?"

But the grey figure had vanished from my porch when I peered out some time later, and I figured I had successfully cleaned my hands of the whole mess and avoided something quite unpleasant indeed.

.

The next day I had almost forgotten about Gandalf altogether. I did not remember things very well, unless

I put them down on my Engagement Tablet to keep track of them. Yesterday I had been too flustered to do anything of the kind, and so it faded to an unpleasant encounter in the back of my mind.

Just before tea-time there came a tremendous ring on the front doorbell, and then I remembered! I had asked the Wandering Wizard to tea of all fool things! In a panic I rushed and put on the kettle, retrieving another cup and saucer and an extra cake or two, and ran to the door.

"I am so sorry to keep you waiting!" I was going to say upon opening it, but was met with a most startling and unexpected moment of confusion when I saw that it was not Gandalf at my door at all.

It was a dwarf with fierce dark eyes peering from beneath a great bald forehead, broad shoulders clothed in fur. "Dwalin at your service!" he said with a low bow, and I fumbled with the strings on my dressing gown as I stammered, "Bilbo Baggins at yours," too surprised to ask any questions for the moment. The Dwarf pushed inside as if he had been invited, and I followed him with confusion.

"Do we know each other?" I asked, although it was unnecessary; if I were acquainted with any of the Dwarrow I'd be likely to know.

"No," He replied, walking past into my cozy little parlor. He looked around, then turned back to me expectantly as he removed his green traveling cloak.

"Is it down here laddie?"

"I-Is what down...where?"

He handed me his cloak rather unceremoniously.

"He said there'd be food!"

And what would you do, if an uninvited dwarf came and hung his things up in your hall without a word of explanation? I invited him in for tea.

We had not been at table long, in fact he had hardly reached the third cake, when the silence grew too long to be comfortable. I just wasn't sure what to do with him!

"You see, I wasn't expecting company," I began, when there came another even louder ring at the bell.

"Excuse me!" I said gratefully, and scampered to the door.

I was quite prepared to give the old wizard a piece of my mind now that he was here at last. But it was not

Gandalf. Instead there was a very old-looking dwarf on the step with a white beard and a scarlet hood.

"Balin at your service!"

"Good evening," I said uncertainly, and he smiled at the cloudy sky. It was not the correct thing to say, but the unexpected arrivals had flustered me badly. I liked visitors, but liked to know them before they arrived, and

preferred to ask them myself. I had a horrible thought that the cakes might run short, and then I-as the

host, knew my duty and stuck to it however painful-might have to go without.

"Yes, yes it is! Though it might rain later," he agreed, and he too hopped inside as soon as the door was open, just as if he had been invited.

"Am I late?" he asked as he took my hand, and I stared back, flabbergasted.

"Late for...for what?" I asked, almost afraid of the answer. Suddenly the dwarf let out a deep bellied laugh at the sight of the dwarf currently going through my things and left me standing blankly in the parlor.

"Evening brother," he declared, and the first dwarf grinned broadly.

"By my beard! You're shorter and wider than when we last met!"

"Wider, not shorter. And sharp enough for both of us," Balin retorted, and the two chuckled like old friends (or, I suppose, like old brothers, as that is what they were) and rested their hands on each other's shoulders before suddenly cracking their skulls together with startling force.

"Ah...excuse me," I tried to interject into their reunion, "sorry, I hate to interrupt, ah, but the thing is, I'm not entirely sure you're in the right house."

The two of them made their way into my pantry, helping themselves to my ale, and I tried to puff myself up a bit and put my foot down like a proper Took.

"The thing is, um, I, I don't know either of you, not in the slightest. I don't mean to be blunt, but I uh, but I had to speak my mind. I'm sorry."

The both of them glanced at me for a moment before Balin nodded.

"Apology accepted." I could not bring myself to question their presence again before another loud ring cam at the bell again.

'Gandalf for certain this time,' I thought as I hurried along the passage. But it was not, and I could hardly bring myself to be surprised at all when it was in fact two more dwarves, one golden and the other dark, both with twinkling eyes.

"Fili," said the lighter, "And Kili" added the darker, then in perfect unison with a bow, "at your service!"

"You must be Mister Boggins!" The dark one-Kili, I think it was-declared, and I hurriedly tried to shut the door.

"Sorry, you've got the wrong house."

"What? Has it been cancelled?" One asked, seeming distraught, and the other grumbled, "No one told us."

"Can-? No, nothing's been cancelled-" I said in befuddlement, before realizing my mistake as in they hopped as if they belonged.

"Well that's a relief! Let us join the throng!"

'Throng!' I thought in dismay, 'I don't like the sound of that. I really must sit down for a minute

and collect my wits, and have a drink.'

But the golden dwarf handed me what looked alarmingly like a set of weapons as the other (also his brother, I presumed) began wiping the mud from his shoes on my dear Belladonna's glory box.

"That is my Mother's glory box, can you please not do that?!"

Dwalin and Balin greeted the younger looking dwarves brightly, beckoning them into my dining room.

"Let's shove this in the hallway, or we'll never get everyone in," Balin commented, and my heart sank. Everyone sounded much too close to throng for my liking.

"E-Everyone? How many more are there?"

"Some four, I should say, we saw them coming along behind us in the distance."

The bell rang again, as if some naughty little hobbit boy was trying to pull the handle off. I sought somewhere to discard my armload, wondering what had happened, and what was going to happen, and whether they would all stay to supper.

"No, there's nobody home!" I cried uselessly, for the bell rang again louder than ever and I rushed along the passage, very angry, and altogether bewildered and bewuthered-this was the most awkward Wednesday he ever remembered. I pulled open the door with a jerk, and they all fell in, one on top of the other. More dwarves, eight more! And there was Gandalf behind, leaning on his staff and laughing.

Already it had almost become a throng. Some called for ale, and some for porter, and one for

coffee, and all of them for cakes; so I was kept very busy for a while as they raided my poor pantry seemingly without remorse. I had my hands full trying desperately to keep them off my grandpa Mungo's chair, from using fine china as coasters, and from all manner of unusual and uncivilized things.

When at last they had settled around the table-twelve of them, plus Gandalf and I, which made for an enormous thirteen guests-I had hoped the raucous laughter would die down, but on the contrary it increased as I was treated first hand to a show of dwarvish dinnertime antics.

"Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori, Ori…" Gandalf seemed to be taking count of my guests, and when he frowned I flinched.

"We're one short," he commented, looking about, "Where is Thorin?"

"He'll be here," Dwalin promised, and I groaned inwardly. As if we needed another mouth to feed! They were already pillaging my pantry, trodding mud into the carpets, and quite possibly ruined the plumbing. I was beginning to wonder whether a most wretched adventure had not come right into my house!

"Excuse me, where should I put my plate?" a youngish looking dwarf with two little tails in his beard (hadn't they called him Ori?) asked me in a surprisingly gentle voice for a dwarf, and I, getting rather red and hot in the face, grumbled to myself, "Confusticate and bebother these dwarves!" he said aloud. "Why don't they come and lend a hand?"

But lo and behold, there stood Fili and Kili, and behind them Balin and Dwalin, and I watched in horror as the golden dwarf snatched Ori's plate and tossed it to his brother. They went off, not waiting for trays, balancing columns of plates, throwing bowls, passing cups and spoons like projectile weapons across my poor table.

I followed after in a fright, begging, "please be careful!"

To my surprise, the dwarves began to sing as they worked (if it could be called working), and soon every member of the company had picked up the tune.

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates!

Blunt the knives and bend the forks!

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates -

Smash the bottles and burn the corks!

Cut the cloth and tread on the fat!

Pour the milk on the pantry floor!

Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!

Splash the wine on every door!

Dump the crocks in a boiling bawl;

Pound them up with a thumping pole;

And when you've finished, if any are whole,

Send them down the hall to roll !

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!

So, carefully! carefully with the plates!"

Of course, they did none of those dreadful things, and when I finally pushed my way through to scold them soundly I found everything cleaned and piled as quick as lightning. I puffed and huffed at them for a moment before two solid knocks sounded at the door, and all eyes turned towards it expectantly.

"He's here," Gandalf proclaimed somewhat ominously in my opinion, rising to answer my door himself. The other dwarrow crowded around the entrance to the hall, successfully blocking both my exit and my view.

"Gandalf," a deep voice greeted as the door opened, "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way twice. I wouldn't have found it at all if not for that mark on the door."

I finally managed to forge my way through the crowd of dwarves and into my parlor, glaring at the back of the wild black head of this Thorin, whoever he was.

"Mark? There is no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago!" I declared, looking up at the Wizard pointedly as he closed the door.

"There is a mark; I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

I turned in the indicated direction to face my final guest with something of a foul attitude, and found myself quite surprised by the encounter. He was noticeably more regal than the others in appearance, clothed in a fine fur coat and blue shirt, and looked down at me with piercing pale blue eyes from his significant height, crossing his arms and taking an unnecessary step closer to me.

"So. This is the hobbit," he said with a slightly condescending tilt of his head, looking me up and down in a manner that I knew meant he was unimpressed. I must have bored him because he brushed past me with the scent of pine and leather and earth.

"Tell me, Mister Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Pardon me?" Surely I'd heard wrong.

"Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?" he continued, and I stared up at him in disbelief.

"Well I do have some skill at Conkers," I replied somewhat sarcastically, "But I fail to see why that's relevant."

He gave me another raking glance, eyes cold, with that same condescending smirk.

"Thought as much," he decided, earning a chuckle or two from some of his companions. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

He moved past me into the dining room as the others laughed, and even Gandalf chuckled at his remark. I followed them in, wishing more than ever that this night would end.

.

I found a seat in the corner, while the dwarves sat around the table, and talked about mines and gold and troubles with the goblins, and the depredations of dragons, and lots of other things which I did not understand, and did not want to, for they sounded much too adventurous and I rather acutely disliked Thorin. That he was an enormously important dwarf I did not care, and only knew he was haughty and rude.

However at the mention of a quest, and it being theirs and theirs alone, my interest was piqued irrevocably.

"You're going on a quest?"

Gandalf spread a weathered old map upon my table, and the dwarves leaned in curiously.

"Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak."

The red-bearded dwarf spoke up as I glanced over the shoulders of the assembled dwarrow at the map, for I was quite fond of maps, and this one depicted a mighty mountain labeled in the common tongue, 'Lonely Mountain.'

"Oin has read the portends, and it is time!"

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end," the grey dwarf with the ear horn extrapolated, and I swallowed hard, looking up as my heart fluttered.

"Beast? Uh...what, what beast?" I asked, although immediately wished I hadn't. I wasn't getting involved with this nonsense, I absolutely wasn't!

The dwarf with braided moustache and floppy furred hat answered me. "Well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals-"

"Yes, I know what a dragon is," I interrupted nervously, because I felt sure that if he continued I was going to faint.

"I'm not afraid! I'm up for it!" the young Ori shouted suddenly, rising at the far end, "I'll give him a taste of Dwarvish metal right up his jacksie!"

Several others cheered at this declaration, but Balin stroked his white beard and shook his head.

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us. But we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest."

This was met with quite a lot of uproar as well, more negatively this time, and I stepped back in alarm as the arguing escalated. Several stood, one pounded the table, more words flew and they began to shout at one another in both the common tongue and their native language.

Just when I thought I could bear it no longer Thorin, who had remained silent, rose suddenly from his seat and let out what could only be called a roar at his companions. The other Dwarrow immediately settled, falling silent before their leader.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for 60 years. Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor? _Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr_!"

The others roared their approval, pounding the table and cheering. Balin quickly interjected. "You forget: the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain."

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf replied, twirling his fingers and producing an ornately wrought key. All the eyes of the dwarves fixed upon it in wonder, but none with so much awe as the clear blue of Thorin Oakenshield.

"How came you by this?" he asked almost breathlessly.

"It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now."

Gandalf slipped the key into Thorin's gauntleted hand as the collected faces glowed with anticipation.

"If there is a key, there must be a door!"

Gandalf gestured to the map before them. "These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls."

"There's another way… But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"It may have been secret once," said Thorin, "but how do we know that it is secret any longer? Old Smaug had lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves."

"He may-but he can't have used it for years and years."

"Why?"

"Because it is too small. Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-earth who can.

"Well, if we can find it, The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage."

"That's why we need a burglar," Ori piped in, and I threw out my own opinion for the first time.

"Hm, A good one, too. An expert, I'd imagine."

"And are you?" Gloin asked, and I glanced up, startled.

"Am I what?"

"He said he's an expert! Hey hey!" Oin cheered, and the others shushed him as I paled.

"M-Me? No, no, no, no, no. I'm not a burglar; I've never stolen a thing in my life."

Balin sighed, "I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins. He's hardly burglar material." I nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"Aye, the wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," Dwalin agreed, and someone else interrupted, causing another argument. Suddenly Gandalf rose from his seat, the air darkening around him visibly.

"Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!" he declared in an echoing voice I felt within my very bones, before returning to his seat and speaking into the silence that followed his outburst.

"Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself. You must trust me on this."

He gazed pointedly at Thorin, who gave a long suffering sigh as I bit my tongue to avoid another loud protest.

"Very well. We will do it your way," the Dwarf said at last, and I panicked.

"No, no, no."

"Give him the contract," Thorin stated, ignoring my pleas completely, and I stepped back in alarm as the others began rising from their seats, as if they had completed their business here.

"Please."

Balin passed a long scroll to Thorin, who slapped it to my chest with more force than necessary. The contract, I presumed. "It's just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."

"Funeral arrangements?" I asked nervously, my voice cracking slightly, but unfurled the contract nonetheless. Beside me I heard the soft bass of Thorin and the rattling baritone of Gandalf speaking in low tones, but I could not understand their words.

I read the contract in disbelief. "Terms: Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one fourteenth of total profit, if any. Seems fair. Eh, Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof including but not limited to lacerations ... evisceration … incineration?" I wondered aloud. This honestly and truly could not be happening! Not to me! Not to a Baggins of Bag End!

"Oh, aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye," Bofur called, and I glanced back down at the parchment, feeling a bit sick.

"Huh."

"You all right, laddie?" Balin asked, and I leaned my hands on my knees, breathing shallowly. More than a bit sick now, I felt downright nauseous.

"Uh, yeah...Feel a bit faint," I admitted, and Bofur leaned over, gesturing with his pipe.

"Think furnace with wings."

"Air, I-I-I need air," I realized, feeling dizzy and hot. What was I getting into here? I hadn't actually said yes, had I? I didn't think I had, but you could never be sure with these people.

"Flash of light, searing pain, then Poof! you're nothing more than a pile of ash," Bofur continued, and I felt fourteen pairs of eyes on me as I breathed deeply, trying to pull myself together.

"Hmmm. Nope."

It was useless. My world went dark.

.

I sipped from the mug of chamomile I had made myself to calm my fully shattered nerves, glancing up at Gandalf.

"I'll be all right, let me just sit quietly for a moment."

"You've been sitting quietly for far too long," he muttered. "Tell me; when did doilies and your mother's dishes become so important to you? I remember a young Hobbit who always was running off in search of elves and the woods, who'd stay out late, come home after dark, trailing mud and twigs and fireflies. A young Hobbit who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of the Shire. The world is not in your books and maps; it's out there."

"I can't just go running off into the blue. I am a Baggins, of Bag End," I protested.

"You are also a Took," he replied, and I rolled my eyes and leaned back against my chair. Would I ever the end of my bloody Took lineage?

"Did you know that your great-great-great-great-uncle, Bullroarer Took, was so large he could ride a real horse?"

"Yes," I grumbled, not particularly interested.

"Well he could. In the Battle of Green Fields, he charged the goblin ranks. He swung his club so hard it knocked the Goblin King's head clean off, and it sailed a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit hole. And thus the battle was won, and the game of golf invented at the same time."

I smiled despite myself. "I do believe you made that up."

"Well, all good stories deserve embellishment. You'll have a tale or two to tell of your own when you come back."

I sighed, staring into the flickering fire before meeting the Wizard's eyes uncertainly. "Can you promise that I will come back?"

He glanced away, then back. "No. And if you do, you will not be the same," he warned and promised, and I glanced at the portrait of my great-great-great-great-uncle Bullroarer Took with a sigh.

"That's what I thought. Sorry, Gandalf, I can't sign this," I declared, pushing myself to my feet and shrugging my slim hobbit shoulders. "You've got the wrong Hobbit."

.

The dark came into the room from the little window that opened in the side of The Hill; the

firelight flickered-it was April-and the dwarves took out their pipes, and sat around the fire, speaking of old times until they no longer spoke at all.

The dark filled all the room, and the fire died down, and the shadows were lost. Suddenly first one and then another began to sing, deep-throated singing of the dwarves in the deep places of their ancient homes; and this is like a fragment of their song, if it can be like their song without their music.

It was a sound that I felt in my bones even in the next room. The rough, sonorous voice of Thorin, joined by his companions in chorus and harmony, is a sound I will never forget as long as I live.

"Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away ere break of day

To seek the pale enchanted gold.

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ere break of day,

To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Far over the misty mountains grim

To dungeons deep and caverns dim

We must away, ere break of day,

To win our harps and gold from him!"

As they sang I felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through me, a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves. The tune was laced with longing and loss, burdened with a glorious purpose I could not comprehend.

Then something Tookish woke up inside me, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick. I looked out of the window. The stars were out in a dark sky above the trees. I thought of the jewels of the dwarves shining in dark caverns. Suddenly in the wood beyond The Water a flame leapt up-probably somebody lighting a wood-fire-and I thought of plundering dragons settling on his quiet Hill and kindling it all to flames. I shuddered; and very quickly was plain Mr. Baggins of Bag-End, Under-Hill, again as I pulled my blankets over my head and willed to sleep. The Tookishness was wearing off, and I was now quite sure that I was not going on any journey in the morning.

As I lay in bed I could hear Thorin still humming to himself in the best bedroom next to him. I went to sleep with that in my ears, and it gave me very uncomfortable, frightening dreams. It was long after the break of day when I woke up, and the Dwarves were gone.

* * *

**I will admit up front that my obsession with Thorin borders on unhealthy. He's just so sexy, I wasn't prepared for that. **

**Hope you all enjoyed the chapter, more to follow soon!**

**~Sairalindë**


	2. Roast Burglar is Not on the Menu

**Thank you for coming back for more! Hope you enjoy the beginning of the greatest adventure.**

* * *

**Chapter Two: Roast Burglar is Not On the Menu**

I woke to the sun shining on my face, stretched, yawned, adjusted my back into place. I had had the strangest dream…

I jumped up, yanking on my dressing gown and hurrying into the living room. Deserted. I peered into the dining room, prepared for all manner of dwarrow messes to clean up, but it had been put back in place as if the whole thing had never happened.

I was at first rather relieved to think they had all gone without me, and without bothering to wake me up (but with never a thank you, I thought rather grouchily); and yet in a way could not help feeling just a trifle disappointed. That feeling surprised me.

"Don't be a fool, Bilbo Baggins," I said to myself, "thinking of dragons and all that outlandish nonsense at your age!'

Then I noticed the unrolled contract sitting forgotten on my dining room table. It declared, "We have the honour to remain yours deeply, Thorin and Co, and two names had already been signed:

Thorin, son of Thrain in bold, angular script, as leader, and Balin son of Fundin as witness. The small red letters Burglar remained lone on the bottom of the page, and I stared at them accusingly for a moment before glancing back up out the window.

The Took inside me welled up as I gazed at the soft, rolling hills of the shire, the only home I had ever known, the safest, quietest, gentlest place on middle earth.

I burst out the door less than ten minutes later donned in traveling coat and trousers, my only really suitable traveling bag strapped across my shoulders, clutching the contract now signed Bilbo Baggins son of Bungo Baggins (not that it was particularly required in my case) in one fist. I raced down the lane of Bag End, stumbled down the hill across the way and startling some chickens.

In my haste I leapt over a pumpkin cart being pushed by the neighboring farmer, vaulting a fence and nearly knocking over a hobbit coming up the way with an armload of firewood.

"Where are you off to?" farmer Gamgee called as I rushed past.

"Can't stop, I'm already late!" I threw over my shoulder.

"Late for what?"

I almost broke into a beaming grin at the sheer ridiculousness of what I was about to say. The Bagginses would likely disown me, and I would have to go by Bilbo Took from now on!

"I'm going on an adventure!"

I ran as fast as my furry feet could carry me down the lane, past the great Mill, across The Water and then for a whole mile or more until my legs began to ache. I caught up with them after having lost my breath quite a ways back, but gathered enough of it to call out.

"Wait! Wait!"

The company halted one by one, turning their ponies round in amazement as I overtook them from behind, waving the contract victoriously. They were on ponies, and each pony was slung about with all kinds of baggages, packages, parcels, and paraphernalia. They looked back at me with varying expressions of surprise or triumph as I handed the contract to Balin, catching my breath. The white dwarf checked it over and I glanced at Thorin to see a rather unimpressed expression on his face.

"Give him a pony," he decided, and I felt my heart sink.

"No, no that really won't be necessary, I can keep up just fine on foot-" I tried to protest, but then two dwarf hands caught me by the shoulder straps and hoisted me onto my very own furry monster.

"Nori, pay up!" Oin called, and I watched as small pouches of gold began to fly back and forth between members of the company. I glanced at Gandalf questioningly.

"What's that all about?"

"They took wagers on whether or not you'd turn up," he explained, "Most of them thought you wouldn't."

I saw Oin, Fili and Bofur putting away money sacks and realized with more than a little indignation that only three members of the company had bet in my favor. Three for me, ten against me then-although I didn't see either Dwalin or Thorin pass or receive money, so I supposed they had abstained from betting, leaving me with three allies, two neutrals and eight who had very little faith in me indeed.

"What did you think?" I asked Gandalf, a little nervously, and he grinned as he caught his own jingling bag of gold.

"I never doubted you for a second."

So after that the party went along rather merrily, and they told stories or sang songs as they rode forward all day, except of course when we stopped for meals. These didn't come quite as often as I would have liked them, but still I began to feel that adventures were not so bad after all. At first we had passed through hobbit-lands, a wild respectable country inhabited by decent folk, with good roads, an inn or two, and now and then a dwarf or a farmer ambling by on business. Then we came to lands where people spoke strangely, and sang songs I had never heard before. Now we had gone on far into the Lone-lands, where there were no people left, no inns, and the roads grew steadily worse. Not far ahead were dreary hills, rising higher and higher, dark with trees. On some of them were old castles with an evil look, as if they had been built by wicked people. I realized slowly that I would have to go without a good deal more than just a handkerchief.

One night (as most of the others before it) I found myself unable to sleep beside Bombur's seismic snoring and got up to have a visit with my little pony, of whom I had grown rather fond. I glanced at the dwarves keeping watch round the fire and snuck an apple out of my pocket, stroking her furry snout.

"That's a good girl. It's our little secret, Myrtle."

Suddenly a shriek the likes of which I had never heard rent the air and I froze, heart rabbiting in my chest.

"What-what was that?" I asked Fili and Kili, who looked out into the night thoughtfully.

"Orcs," Kili said softly, and I swallowed hard, hurriedly edging away from the edge.

"Orcs?!"

"Throat cutters, there'll be dozens of them out there," Fili agreed, "The lowlands are crawling with them."

"They strike in the wee small hours of night when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams, just lots of blood," Kili described ominously, and I felt my stomach turn nauseously. I turned to look out into the misty dark in terror, and heard the dwarf brothers share a snicker.

"You think that's funny?" A deep voice demanded, and I turned to see that Thorin had woken and strode between the young dwarves and myself with a frown.

"You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

Fili and Kili shared an ashamed glance. "We didn't mean anything by it," the darker said abashedly, and Thorin shook his dark mane as he walked past me, standing at the ledge observing the darkness.

"No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world."

The brothers looked down into the flames in shame, and Balin shuffled over as Thorin vacated the warm glow of the campfire.

"Don't mind him laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."

I settled back atop my blanket as Balin told the young warriors a story straight from one of my adventure books, and I listened, enraptured. These words of orcs and mines and great battles seemed so far away to me, stuff of fairytales and bedtime stories.

But the heir of Durin, a real live dwarf prince, was standing at the edge of our firelight keeping watch as I listened to his story. I heard of the beheading of his grandfather and disappearance of his father, the hopeless odds against the dwarrow forces, and of the young dwarf prince who stood against a most terrible foe.

He struck the pale orc a mighty blow despite being hopelessly outmatched, practically winning the day single handedly. Did heroes like this really exist? I gazed at the lone back of the dwarf prince, heart aching for his people. So much death and sorrow...how could a gentle creature like me even begin to understand?

"There is one I could call King," Balin said proudly, and all eyes turned to the son of Thrain. King? The word felt foreign to me. The people of the Shire had no kings or warriors, no one who ruled with the regal manner of those born with royal blood. Perhaps that is why he seemed so untouchable to me then; he was nothing more than a figure of legend, a mythical prince who had taken form just outside my reach.

"Get some sleep, laddies. We've got many days ahead of us yet."

.

Then it began to rain. Nothing like the bright little showers of the Shire; it poured as if the sky were heaving the contents of all the rivers and streams of middle earth upon us. I was beginning to realize that adventures were not entirely pony rides in may sunshine.

The dwarves grumbled and quarrelled amongst themselves, longing for their dark, wet caves, and I found myself riding beside Bofur as he chewed upon his sodden pipe.

"How're yeh likin' the rain, laddie?" he asked with twinkling eyes, and I forced a grimace of a smile.

"I don't much like it," I said with a sniff, and he chortled.

"You're not alone in that opinion, I'd guess. Although I prefer it to the snow!"

"Snow? I, ah...I can't say I've ever seen much of the stuff. One light snowfall in my youth is the extent of my experience," I admitted, and he glanced up at the grey clouds.

"What gentle lives the shire folk live," he murmured, and I flushed, looking down.

"I know I've never been in a battle with orcs or-or lost my home to a dragon," I muttered, "and I'm terribly sorry for all the hardships your party has seen, but I have left that gentle life to help you lot with your mountain!"

Bofur gave me a softer smile, clapping me on the shoulder.

"Aye, that you have. And the others will come to appreciate that in time. Let 'em warm up to yeh."

I blinked in surprise at his response. "You mean, you've already warmed up to me?"

He winked, rattling the gold in his pocket. "I bet for yeh, didn't I?"

I smiled as the pool of warmth gathering in my chest managed to fend off some of the damp chill as we rode on into the unknown.

.

"We'll make camp here for the night," Thorin declared in the late afternoon. The rain had passed us by at last and my aching back and legs rejoiced to be getting off my pony. Kili all but toppled off his dappled little horse and flopped on the grass in the golden sunshine as the company dismounted gratefully.

"Oin, Gloin, get a fire going. Fili, Kili, look after the ponies."

Gandalf and Thorin immediately began speaking in hushed, unsettled voices as we stretched and rubbed our poor sore bums.

"What do you suppose they're arguing about now?" I heard Dori ask Balin, who shrugged.

"It's always something, isn't it?"

Suddenly Gandalf stormed through the crowd of dwarves away from the aggravating dwarf prince.

"Where are you going?" I asked nervously-Gandalf I knew at least didn't mind me so much-and he growled in reply, "To seek the company of the only one around here who's got any sense."

"Who's that?"

"Myself, Mr. Baggins!" he cried, "I've had enough of dwarves for one day." And with that he bustled off into the forest, leaving us alone.

"Is he coming back?" I wondered, and Balin shrugged as Thorin passed out more orders. He seemed more apt to do so when he was upset, but I think using his power made him feel a bit better.

Bombur, Bofur and I set about making something edible for supper. Bofur did most of the talking in the interaction between the cousins-in fact, I wasn't certain I'd ever heard Bombur speak. The task was done in quiet or in easy conversation and I prided myself on the compliments my cookin abilities.

"Why don't you take some to the others?" he suggested when we had finished, handing me several bowls. "Nothing will make a dwarf fond of yeh like bringin' 'em food!"

I supposed he was right and plucked up my courage as I approached the pair of brothers currently sitting side by side, Gloin speaking into Oin's ear horn to be heard properly. I smiled nervously when they looked up at my approach, holding out the bowls as a peace offering.

"I've brought supper," I declared, and Gloin broke into a beaming smile.

"About time! Thank you, boy," he boomed, taking both bowls and offering one to Oin. I smiled and prepared to leave when the red-bearded dwarf caught the hem of my coat.

"Have a seat, boy, I have something I want to show you," he said, eyes twinkling. I settled crosslegged a respectful distance from the silent Oin who seemed to be ignoring the both of us, and Gloin produced a small stone locket from his coat pocket.

"This here's my lovely wife, and my wee lad Gimli!" he said proudly as I opened the trinket to find a pair of portraits within. They were certainly dwarves, and after some analyzation I could determine they were indeed a woman and child, despite their impressive beards.

"They're lovely," I said with a smile, returning the locket. Gloin smiled tenderly, returning the locket to his breast pocket with an adoring expression.

"Aye, they're my pride and joy! You know I was the fifth dwarf to ask my beloved's hand in marriage? She had turned them all down because she was waiting for the right one, and I'm certainly lucky she did!"

"You're a very lucky dwarf, Master Gloin," I agreed, and he looked about to launch into more stirring depictions of his lady wife when the order to pass out more food called me back to the fire.

"What'd I tell yeh," Bofur joked, clapping my shoulder, and handed me two more bowls. " Fast friends. Here, do us a favor and take these to the lads," he suggested, nodding into the forest where the young dwarf brothers were keeping watch over the ponies. I obeyed with some apprehension; although they hadn't been hostile, the mischievous young dwarrow seemed to enjoy nothing more than my torment.

I picked my way through the woods until I found the dwarrow standing side by side staring at the quickly constructed pen where we had lashed the ponies. I offered them the bowls, but they did not turn their combined gaze from where it lay.

"What's the matter?" I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"We're supposed to be looking out for the ponies," Kili said softly,

"Only we've encountered a slight problem," Fili finished.

"We had sixteen."

"Now there's fourteen."

They hurried into the pen with the ponies, counting, recounting, examining the ones we had left.

"Daisy and Bungo are missing," it was determined, and I followed with a nervous laugh. I didn't want to think what the implications might be if the poor missing ponies hadn't simply wandered off.

"Well that is...not good! Not good at all," I decided, and suggested the only plan of action I could think of. "Shouldn't we tell Thorin?"

"No!" They barked in unison, and I stepped back, startled.

"Uh, no," Fili amended.

"We wouldn't want to worry him," Kili agreed, and I got the sneaking suspicion that they wanted to avoid getting into trouble more than anything else.

"As our official burglar, we thought you might want to look into it," Fili suggested, and I gave another skittish chuckle as we observed the freshly overturned trees surrounding the pony pen.

"Well, ah-something big uprooted these trees," I deduced, and Fili nodded.

"That was our thinking."

"Something big and possibly quite dangerous," I added faintly, and Kili clapped me hard on the shoulder.

"Hey! There's a light over here," Fili realized, and we knelt behind one such fallen tree, peering through the thick foliage.

The sound of raucous laughter and crackling wood drifted to us on the wind, and I edged closer to the elder brother nervously.

"What's that?" I whispered, and Kili rose slowly.

"Trolls."

"Trolls?!" I repeated incredulously, but the pair was already off in search of a better view and I bustled after them anxiously. A great crashing sounded to my left and I ducked behind a tree with racing heart as I caught my first ever sight of a mountain troll with one pony under each arm as it lumbered back to its fire.

"It's got Myrtle and Mindy!" I hissed as I crouched beside Kili and Fili, "I think they're going to eat them! We have to do something!"

I saw them glance at each other, then back to me thoughtfully.

"Yes, you should!" Kili agreed, "Mountain trolls are slow and stupid."

"And you're so small!" Fili piped in, and I backed away from the brothers.

"No! Oh no," I argued, but Kili had already relieved me of my stew bowls and given me a gentle nudge towards the fire.

"It's perfectly safe!

"We'll be right behind you."

"If you get into trouble-"

"Hoot twice like a barn owl and once like a screech owl."

So off I had to go, before I could explain that I could not hoot even once like any kind of owl any more than fly like a bat. But at any rate hobbits can move quietly in woods, absolutely quietly, and I crept up on the fire without disturbing anyone. The sight I came upon made my stomach turn with nerves.

Three very large persons were sitting round a very large fire of beech-logs toasting mutton on long spits of wood, and licking the gravy off their fingers. There was a fine toothsome smell, and there was a barrel of good drink at hand, and they were drinking out of jugs. But they were trolls. Obviously trolls. Even I, in spite of my sheltered life, could see that: from the great heavy faces of them, and their size, and the shape of their legs, not to mention their language, which was not drawing-room fashion at all, at all.

"Mutton yesterday, mutton today, and blimey, if it don't look like mutton again tomorrer," said one of the trolls.

"Never a blinking bit of manflesh have we had for long enough," said a second. "What the 'ell you was a-thinkin' of to bring us into these parts at all, beats me - and the drink runnin' short, what's more," he said jogging the elbow of a third, who was taking a pull at his jug.

"Quit yer' griping. These ain't sheep. These is West Nags!"

"Oh, I don't like `orse. I never `ave. Not enough fat on them." I watched the troll set Mindy and my dear Myrtle down inside their own pen as they discussed cooking the poor animals.

"Well, it's better than the leathery old farmer. All skin and bone, he was. I'm still picking bits of him out of me teeth."

I swallowed nauseously. So they ate menfolk as well, which probably meant they'd be just fine with hobbit and even dwarf should they get the chance. Suddenly one of the trolls sneezed violently over the boiling pot.

"Oh, that's lovely, that is; a floater," grumbled the cook.

"Oh, might improve the flavor!"

Yes, I am afraid trolls do behave like that, even those with only one head each. After hearing all this I ought to have done something at once. Either I should have gone back quietly and warned the company that there were three fair-sized trolls at hand in a nasty mood, quite likely to try toasted dwarf, or even pony, for a change; or else I should have done a bit of good quick burgling. A really first-class and legendary burglar would at this point have picked the trolls' pockets-it is nearly always worthwhile if you can manage it-pinched the very mutton off the spite, purloined the beer, and walked off without their noticing him. Others more practical but with less professional pride would perhaps have stuck a dagger into each of them before they observed it. Then the night could have been spent cheerily.

But there I crouched, fumbling knife-less with the ropes encircling the pony pen. Suddenly one of the trolls turned towards me and I ducked quick, pulse pounding.

"I hope you're gonna gut these nags. I don't like the stinky parts," it commented, coming towards me, but then the cooking troll whacked this one upside the head with his ladle and it squealed in pain, turning back away from me.

"I said sit down!"

"I'm starving! Are we `aving horse tonight or what?"

"Shut your cakehole. You'll eat what I give ya'."

One troll moved aside his loincloth and I noticed a long knife hanging from his belt. I could use it to cut the ropes, in theory. I reached for it, but it remained just out of armslength and suddenly an enormous troll hand snatched me up before I could avoid the massive hand. The disgusting thing then proceeded to sneeze all over my lovely traveling coat, then looked alarmed when it realized it was not holding any ordinary phlegm.

"Argh! Blimey! Bert! Bert! Look what's come out of me 'ooter! It's got arms and legs and everything."

"What is it?"

"I don't know, but I don't like the way it wriggles around!"

"What are you then? An oversized squirrel?"

"I'm a burglar- uhh, Hobbit," I amended, trying not to panic. I could still get out of this, right?

"A Burgla-Hobbit?"

"Can we cook `im?

"We can try!" They made another grab at me and I fled, dodging their oak-thick legs in a tizzy.

"Grab him!"

"It's too quick!"

"Come here, you little... Gotcha!" I yelped as I was caught by the leg and hung upside down from one troll hand.

"Are there any more of you little fellas `iding where you shouldn't?"

"Nope," I replied quickly, wondering if it were too late to make the owl noises.

"He's lying."

"No I'm not!"

"Hold his toes over the fire. Make him squeal."

Suddenly a dark blur burst from the bushes and struck at one of the other troll's legs, making him howl and dance about in agony.

"Drop him!" Kili shouted, and before I could warn him I was flying through the air, having been tossed like a stone at the poor dwarf. I hit him square in the chest and we both toppled to the ground. Just in time too; as we rolled to a stop the others leapt over us, charging from the bushes with dwarrow battle cries as they stormed the troll's camp. They attacked the trolls wildly, swinging axes, hammers and swords as chaos exploded around me.

The ponies were shrieking in panic, and I ducked my way through the melee to their pen. Once Thorin nearly took my ear off with that giant dwarf sword of his, and Dwalin's war hammer barely missed my poor feet as I rolled to safety. Finally retrieving the knife that had been my goal originally I sawed through the ropes, freeing the poor things just in time to be clutched again by a mighty troll hand.

"Bilbo!" Kili shouted as another of the trolls gripped my arm, pulling me taut between them like a rug to beat clean, and I saw Thorin throw out a gauntleted arm to hold him back.

"No!"

"Lay down your arms, or we'll rip his off!" the Troll threatened, and I flinched as I waited for Thorin to order a retreat. I didn't mean anything to them, I was dead extra weight and I knew it.

I stared in fear at the leader of the company, his icy eyes boring straight into mine. I expected to see indifference there or even relief, but instead their pale depths swam with frustration and fire.

He overturned his sword and planted it in the ground in surrender, this dwarf who would die before raising a white flag, and the others followed his example for my sake. Several exchanged shocked glances, and I had to agree with them.

There was more to Thorin Oakenshield than I had imagined.

.

When a wizard decides to wander off, it is usually best to let him be. But I had never been gladder to see Gandalf Stormcrow than that morning on the rock when the trolls had just begun to tire of my games. We had no sooner freed ourselves of the troll's sacks and spit when Gandalf and Thorin beckoned us on our way.

I wondered if I would ever sleep again.

"Auch!" Nori exclaimed sharply as we came upon the troll's cave. "What is that horrible stench?"

"It's a troll hoard!" Gandalf retorted, as if that explained everything. The torches fell upon dozens of fine glittering things and the dwarves scurried about with gleeful eyes and wandering hands.

I was admiring a rather handsome vest and jacket left over no doubt from one of the troll's unfortunate victims when I saw that Thorin and Gandalf had discovered a treasure of their own.

"These were not made by any troll," Thorin murmured as he cleared the cobwebs away from a pair of mighty sheathed swords.

"Nor were they forged by any smith among men," Gandalf agreed. "These were forged in Gondolin by the High Elves of the First Age."

Thorin started to put his away with a disgusted expression that I did not understand, and Gandalf scowled at the dwarf.

"You could not wish for a finer blade."

I nearly slipped on a pile of gold as one of the golden goblets at its base was removed by Nori, who along with Gloin was packing a chest full of the stuff.

"Come, let's get out of this foul place," Thorin declared, and the company began to scramble out of the cave after their king.

"Bilbo!" Gandalf called for my attention, and I turned questioningly. He offered me what would have barely been a pocket knife to a troll, but was a decent sword for a hobbit.

"Here. This is about your size."

"I can't take this," I protested, both because I had done nothing to earn it and because the thought of having to use it made me feel a bit sick.

"The blade is of Elvish make which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby," the wizard urged, and I shook my head.

"I have never used a sword in my life." The dwarves would surely laugh at me if I tried!

"And I hope you never have to. But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one."

I looked up into the twinkling eyes of the wizard and gripped the sword, heart fluttering. This adventure was becoming even more dangerous and strange than I had expected, and I was beginning to expect very much that I would never see the rolling hills of the shire again.

"Something's coming!" Thorin suddenly barked, cutting our conversation short, and Gandalf pushed the sword into my hands, leaving me.

"Stay together! Hurry now. Arm yourselves!"

Seeing as how I had only seen the one wizard in my life, Radaghast the Brown seemed a bit...unimpressive compared to Gandalf. He was small, perhaps even hobbit sized, and had a rather unbecoming line of bird droppings down the side of his face. He and Gandalf soon secluded themselves from the rest of us and we settled down for a smoke as we waited.

I puffed at my pipe and glanced at the brooding back of the dwarf prince thoughtfully. He seemed to be searching for his flint and steel to light his impressive pipe, and I was struck suddenly with a way to be helpful to the moody master of our company.

"May I offer you a light, Master Oakenshield?" I asked, wincing internally at how awkwardly formal my statement sounded, and Thorin turned his crystal eyes upwards to meet mine. I smiled crookedly, holding out my own steaming pipe, and he ceased his searching. I thought he would tell me to leave his sight immediately, but to my pleasant surprise he held out his square pipe for an ember. I tilted one in, beaming internally but managing to only nod in satisfaction and turn away. I left his side before he could send me away, feeling quite pleased with myself for my helpfulness as I packed my tobacco away.

Suddenly a bone chilling howl sounded through the woods, and I jerked my head up in alarm.

"Was that a wolf?" I asked nervously. "Are there-are there wolves out there?"

"Wolves? No, that was not a wolf," Bofur replied, actual fear in his voice, and a cracking twig made us all whirl just in time to see a mighty beast crouching on the hill above us. It looked to me like some unholy cross between a bear, a wolf and something nastier, and it leapt over me and Bofur with light feet and fell on Ori. Before I could even shout Thorin was upon it, striking it down swiftly with his elvish blade. Another appeared over his shoulder, and Kili shot it down before it could touch him. The monster tried to rise again, but earned itself a quick death from Dwalin's axe.

"Warg-Scouts!" Thorin shouted, "Which means an Orc pack is not far behind."

"Orc pack?" I asked disbelievingly. What kind of sentient creature traveled in packs?!

"Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?" Gandalf demanded of Thorin, bearing down from his superior height.

"No one."

"Who did you tell?" He demanded more urgently.

"No one, I swear!" Thorin snarled. "What in Durin's name is going on?"

"You are being hunted."

I felt another fainting spell coming on, but realized that if I dropped unconscious they would very likely leave me to the orcs.

"We have to get out of here."

"We can't! We have no ponies; they bolted."

This really couldn't be happening! I tried to hold off the wave of panic I felt as Radagast stepped in.

"I'll draw them off."

"These are Gundabad Wargs; they will outrun you," Gandalf retorted, and the small wizard grinned.

"These are Rhosgobel Rabbits; I'd like to see them try."

.

I've never run so fast or so far in my life. It felt like hours, hiding behind rocks and then sprinting for our lives as the brave little wizard drew the monsters as far away as he could manage. We ran in single file or in clumps, occasionally nearly tripping one another or falling into sight. Gandalf seemed to be the only one with any inkling of our destination, and I was not the only one who noticed.

"Where are you taking us?" Thorin demanded, but received no answer.

We clustered beneath an outcropping and I leaned my head against the rock, panting. This was madness! There was no way we could outrun them forever! A single rider could be heard prowling above us, and one of Thorin's broad gauntleted hands moved across my chest, pressing me back out of sight.

He glanced pointedly at Kili, and the younger dwarf slowly knocked an arrow before lunging out of hiding and striking the creature in the throat. It toppled from the rock, but its death cries did not go unheard by its fellows. Nor did the cries of the orc as Dwalin and Bifur bashed its skull in, and I clenched my eyes closed as it fell silent abruptly. I had never seen an orc before. I had never seen a brutal death either. I felt bile threatening to rise and swayed, but a strong hand caught my arm and pulled me along.

"Run!"

And run we did. We ran and ran and ran until I was sure I could run no more, and then Dwalin pulled me along by the coat.

We were going to die! There was absolutely no way we survive this-

"This way you fools!"

Gandalf gestured from a crack in the rocks, and we bolted for it.

"Come on, move! Quickly, all of you!" Thorin ordered, gesturing us in before he leapt down the crevasse himself, and I skidded inside to land hard on top of Bofur at the bottom. Thorin struck down a warg as it snapped at him, guarding our escape into the cave. Fili and Kili tumbled down together, and then the prince leapt inside and landed on his feet, the graceful buggar.

The sound of a war horn echoed across the plain, and we crowded together underground in alarm. More orcs? Or salvation?

The sound of flying arrows and screeching orcs lasted only a few seconds, and as one unlucky monster fell down our hole in his death throes Thorin examined the arrow jutting from its jugular.

"Elves."

He said it with disgust and rage, and threw the arrow aside. But there was really nowhere else to go but deeper into the earth, and so we followed the winding cave wherever it may have led.

The narrow path widened at the mouth of a waterfall, and the dwarrow ahead of me began to stop short. I peered around them and felt my breath hitch in wonder.

"Rivendell."

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**I also apologize in advance for the horribly mismatched chapter lengths in this fic. Thanks for reading! Drop a review if you like!**

**~Sairalindë **


	3. Short Rest, Blue Blanket, Goblin Town

**Chapter threeee! Thanks for reading! **

**You know the drill, I don't own any of them unfortunately. Drop a review with any recommendations!**

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**Chapter Three: A Short Rest, a Blue Blanket, and a visit to Goblin Town**

There is very little that can be said of Dwarvish tact or Dwarvish charm. I thought many times during that first evening that my companions would surely come to blows with the elves of Rivendell, a race so fair and lovely I had only ever dreamed of their like.

But we somehow survived dinner, were given beautiful, luxurious beds, and even got our old map translated by Lord Elrond. I've always been rather good at riddles, but what could be meant by a grey stone where the thrush knocks was beyond me.

The only thing more wonderful than Elvish music and Elvish wine is potentially the Elvish Baths. Now we hobbits are relatively gifted in our luxuries, but no hobbit had ever seen such marvelous bathhouses or smelt more wonderful bath oils. Water came from streams in larger pools of bubbling natural hot springs, and there were a dozen or so small private basins in which three hobbits could have played comfortably. Along the walls steaming water burst from faucets in the walls, creating showers of sweet scented water.

I do believe I might have stayed there eternally had the temptation of an even more comfortable Elvish bed not summoned me from my dozing in the springs. My fingers and toes had wrinkled and I smelled sweetly of rose and lavender as I wrapped myself in a fluffy pristine white towel, padding through the steamy bathhouse.

The sound of running water met me as I entered the shower rooms, intending to pass through and avoid the unpleasantness of the cool outside air, and I wondered if my companions had decided also to take advantage of the opportunity to bathe.

I rounded the corner and froze almost immediately in a mixture of surprise and panic.

One of my companions had indeed come to the bathhouse, and stood with his broad back to me beneath a shower of steaming water.

Thorin's back and shoulders were covered in battle scars, mostly small and uneven, but there was one large gash shaped mark on his left shoulder that must have once caused him immense pain. He raked a hand through his wild inky locks, and rested his forehead against the cool stone of the wall. He seemed almost relaxed, and I realized too late that should he be disturbed he would likely be very angry.

I turned to leave hurriedly-too hurriedly, in fact, because like the fool I am I slipped on the wet floor and crashed ungracefully to it, cracking my head upon the stone.

Thorin whirled at the sound of my tumble, crouching low defensively, but when he saw it was only his bumbling burglar he sighed and pushed his wet hair off of his face.

"What are you doing, Burglar?" he asked, obviously not amused, and I got shakily to my feet. My poor skull throbbed from its collision with the floor, and I wasn't entirely sure where to direct my eyes as I apologized to the dwarf prince.

"I was heading back from the baths, I-I'm sorry," I fumbled, and he rolled his eyes before turning away from me. I hobbled out with what was left of my dignity and made my way as hurriedly as I could to the chambers which had been designated to me.

I pushed open the door to find two other beds had been occupied as well. The youngest dwarf brothers sat side by side, speaking in low tones, and I wondered if my evening could be worse. Fili and Kili, although occasionally including me in a prank or joke, more or less ignored my presence as most of the others did.

"Greetings, Master Boggins," the darker brother said at my entrance, and I wondered if he were purposely mispronouncing my name or if he truly didn't know it.

"Good evening, master dwarves," I replied, slipping on the soft white shirt and breeches the elves had provided to sleep in while our clothes (those of us who were willing to part with them for the night and who trusted the elves with them) could be cleaned.

"Had a lovely bath, have you?" The golden brother inquired, and I nodded painfully, almost having to vault into my bed due to its height. My good mood had been utterly ruined by the run in with their prince, and I was ready for a decent night's sleep.

"I've always thought baths were good for the spirit," Kili commented, tossing his boots unceremoniously on the floor, and Fili added, "And pleasant for the mood!"

"About the only thing that can calm our mother."

"Must be a family trait. Uncle is always a bit less brooding after a good soak in the royal bathhouse."

I rolled over curiously. I didn't know much about the dwarves' families (excepting Gloin, of course), and from the sound of it these two were related to royalty.

"Are you two heirs of Durin as well?" I asked, and they glanced over as if surprised I was interacting with them. Fili rolled onto his stomach, propping his braided, bearded chin on his hands.

"You mean you didn't know?"

"We're Kili and Fili, sons of Dis."

"Dis is the one and only daughter of Thrain."

"Dear sour old Thorin is none other than our Uncle."

"I see," I interjected, their habit of finishing one another's sentences becoming uncanny. "So you are his nephews? I'm surprised he let you come along."

"As if he could have stopped us!" Kili protested, and Fili rolled his eyes.

"We're not dwarflings, Master Baggins. It was our choice in the end."

"Besides, if Uncle gets into trouble he'd want to have his heirs with him."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "You're his heirs? Does he have no children of his own?"

"No," a voice boomed from the doorway and the brothers quickly scrambled to their feet as they discovered their Uncle had been listening in. "And I'd appreciate it if my heirs didn't discuss my private matters," he scolded, and I realized for the first time why the relationship between these three dwarves had seemed so significant. Kili and Fili wanted nothing more than to make Thorin proud, that much was obvious, and pleasing the dwarf prince seemed a nearly impossible task.

"Get some sleep. We leave by dawn," he ordered, and then disappeared down the hall, presumably to deliver the same message to the others. Kili and Fili bedded down like mice in a nest, having pushed their two beds together into one, and were soon snoring deeply in the moonlight. I lay awake for some time staring at the dappled ceiling, wondering if the lack of a wife and children was part of the reason Thorin always looked so lonely.

.

Leave before dawn we did. We crept from the hidden valley in secret without a word of parting (although I had made sure to leave a note behind on my dresser thanking the elves for their kindness and apologizing for the stubbornness of dwarves) and made for the hills.

"Be on your guard; we're about to step over the edge of the Wild. Balin, you know these paths; lead on."

"Aye."

I turned and cast one last longing look at Rivendell, wondering if I would ever see the lovely spires and waterfalls again.

"Master Baggins," Thorin called, startling me from my reverie. "I suggest you keep up."

No turning back now then. We forged on with a knowledge of the road we must follow over the Misty Mountains to the land beyond.

.

"Is that the mountain?"

The dwarves turned to look at me both incredulously and disdainfully as I stared up at the mighty mountains before us.

"No, laddie, these are the foothills of the Misty Mountains," Balin replied before anyone else could call me a fool, and I appreciated his intervention.

"These mountains lie between us and Erebor, and the only way is either over them or under them."

And over we went. We climbed from the lovely low altitude mountain meadows to the barren tundra, and even over some of the craggy peaks, ever upward. I began to wonder if I would ever see hills again, and grew weary of the ragged, piercing peaks. They were rough on my poor feet, and terrible to sleep on.

Something I was never told before this whole adventure began was that nights grow colder the farther you are from the ground. That first night in the mountains was as close to snow as I ever hope to get. We could see it, feel it creeping down from the peaks in spidery tendrils of frigid air that settled around our fire oppressively.

I shivered and shook for most of the night, trying desperately to get warm. No matter how tight a ball I curled myself into the chill reached into my bones with icy fingers, cutting at my flesh.

How sad it would be if I made it so far, past trolls and orcs and wargs, only to die of cold! Somehow I managed sleep on those unforgiving rocks, the frost held at bay by a fiery guardian whose heart I did not yet know.

I woke in the dewey cold of morning to the sounds of distant thunder, noticing that my tattered old blanket had been covered by a thick, fine woolen one of a faded but once bright blue. I looked around curiously, expecting someone to come and retrieve their gift, but my companions were busy with cleaning their bedrolls or scavenging food and fire.

"Master Baggins, we need a real cook over here!" Ori complained as he and his brother tried to scrape together some kind of breakfast, and I scrambled to their aid. By the time we had eaten and prepared to set out, I found my bedroll neatly packed and the mysterious blue blanket nowhere to be found.

I may never get used to the pride and stubbornness of dwarves, but neither will they cease to amaze and surprise me.

The thunder that we woke to intensified as we ascended, until we found ourselves clinging to a treacherous mountain pass in the pouring rain, lightning and thunder crashing all around like the end of the world.

"We have to find shelter!" Thorin shouted over the wind, as if none of us were thinking exactly the same thing. I took another shuffling step and the ground crumbled beneath my feet. I slipped and skittered over the edge, barely catching myself with my fingers buried in a crevasse several feet from the path.

"Bilbo!" I heard Bofur shout, and he and Ori dangled over the edge dangerously trying to reach me. I stretched for their hands, but the rocks were slick with rain and blood from my fingers and I felt my strength failing.

So this was it then? This was how I would die on this mad quest. I knew it would happen somehow, but I had hoped it would be a tad more heroic in the end.

Suddenly Thorin appeared at the edge, and before I could even fully process what he was doing exactly he had dropped over the cliff, clinging with one hand to the rock as he hauled me bodily over the edge with the other. I scrambled to safety and heard a shout and several grunts as Thorin himself nearly tumbled to his doom on my account before Dwalin and several others hoisted their king to salvation.

I sat stunned and gasping on the wet rocks as Thorin staggered to his feet, everyone breathless and slapping us on the back gratefully.

"I thought we'd lost our burglar," Dwalin chuckled, and Thorin cast a scathing glare at me.

"He's been lost ever since he left home," he snarled. "He should never have come. He has no place amongst us."

I reeled from my physical ordeal and the verbal strike the prince had just dealt me for a moment before he turned away from me in disgust.

"Dwalin!" he barked, and the two disappeared into the mountain. I gasped into the sodden shoulder of Bofur as he helped me to my trembling feet, and we all hurried into the shelter of the cave.

"Right then! Let's get a fire started," Gloin said, running his hands together excitedly.

"No, No fires, not in this place," Thorin growled, pacing back to the entrance like a caged wolf. "Get some sleep. We start at first light."

.

I lied. The first night in the mountains was only the second worst night I had spent amongst that company thus far into our trek, for that night in the cave was made heavy by both physical discomfort and a stinging emotional pain. The dwarrow slumbered peacefully in their bedrolls as I lay on my side, unable to shake Thorin's harsh words.

I knew I wasn't a dwarf, and that I could never understand the pain and suffering these brave men had gone through. But did that warrant my exile? Ostracization? If they didn't want me, couldn't he have put his foot down before we had climbed up into the high, cold, angry places of the world?

I glanced around to see if any of them were watching, and when I had satisfied myself that they were all asleep I packed my things quickly and quietly. I stepped softly over the sleeping forms of the dwarrow I had come to call my friends and companions. But then again, maybe not friends.

"Where do you think you're going?" a voice piped up suddenly, and I flinched and stopped as I realized Bofur was still on his watch.

"Back to Rivendell," I hissed back, longing for those sweet halls and gentle music.

"No, no, you can't turn back now, you're part of the Company," he protested, standing up to follow me. "You're one of us."

"I'm not though, am I?" I retorted, and I saw confusion cloud his features. "Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. I'm not a Took, I'm a Baggins, I don't know what I was thinking. I should never have run out my door."

"You're homesick; I understand," he soothed, and I felt a spark of anger at him-at all of them.

"No, you don't, you don't understand! None of you do - you're dwarves. You used to - to this life, to living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere."

His face fell and I realized I had gone too far. My heart dropped and i swallowed, regretting the words immediately.

"I am sorry, I didn't..."

"No, you're right," he said softly, casting a look around at his brothers and companions. "We don't belong anywhere. I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do."

He rested a hand on my shoulder with a smile, and I wondered if, given more of a fighting chance, we could have been friends. Good friends, I thought, Bofur was a proper good dwarf. Not prickly and standoffish like his king.

"What's that?" Bofur asked suddenly, and I looked down to see a shimmer of blue shining from between the hilt and sheath of my little elvish blade.

My heart hit the floor and my stomach ended up somewhere around my throat as I realized what that meant.

"Wake up! Wake up!" Thorin's voice thundered through the cave, but it was too late. The floor opened up and swallowed us all whole as if the very earth were absolutely famished.

.

The whole mess with the goblins is honestly a bit of a blur. My little letter opener saw its first bit of action against a goblin blade, and I took a nasty tumble down a hole into the darkness of the depths of the world. I found a strange souvenir, exchanged riddles with a frightening creature and burgled my way back to the surface. If I had told the dwarves, they never would have believed a word of it.

And I almost missed having a chance to tell them on that mountainside after fleeing Goblin Town and surviving all kinds of horrible things once again. I followed them out of the caverns and down the mountain amongst the trees.

"Where is our hobbit?!" I heard Gandalf cry, and the dwarves looked around as if just realizing my absence. That would be just peachy, wouldn't it? The little twits.

"Curse the halfling! Now he's lost?!"

"I thought he was with Dori!"

"Don't blame me!"

"Well, where did you last see him?"

"I think I saw him slip away, when they first collared us."

"What happened exactly? Tell me!"

I came to a stop behind a tree, catching my breath and letting them think I was gone for a bit longer so they would appreciate me more.

"I'll tell you what happened," Thorin's rough bass snarled, "Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He's thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door! We will not be seeing our Hobbit again. He is long gone."

I leaned my head against the tree, breathing hard and contemplating his words. It was obvious how little Thorin thought of me. But just because their King was not keen on him being in their company, did not man he would abandon them. Fili and Kili were loyal and kind, and Bofur was warm and kind hearted and possibly a brilliant friend. And Gloin was a dear, always talking about his family, and Dori was a kind old thing who seemed much more well mannered than any of his kin and I really did need to try to get to know him better because I felt like we would get on rather well, him and Ori too.

Thorin believed me to be a weakling and a coward, but leaving now would only prove him right. I slipped off the ring that somehow made me invisible and stepped out from behind the tree.

"No, he isn't."

The dwarrow turned in amazement at my appearance, many sporting smiles. I clapped Balin on the arm as I passed, approaching Gandalf, and noticed Thorin cast his eyes down almost in shame. But the look quickly vanished and I looked up at the Wizard who was beaming down at me.

"Bilbo Baggins! I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life!"

"Bilbo, we'd given you up!" Kili crowed, and Fili was not far behind.

"How on earth did you get past the Goblins?!"

"How, indeed," Dwalin muttered, and I blanched. What was I going to say? I couldn't tell them about my magic ring, but saying I fought my way out was ridiculous. I pushed the ring into my pocket, laughing nervously. Gandalf came to my rescue with a slightly disturbed smile.

"Well, what does it matter? He's back!"

"It matters!" Thorin snapped, breaking the happy mood. "I want to know." His deep blue eyes looked me up and down, challenging, assessing. "Why did you come back?"

I was rather fed up with Thorin Oakenshield at this point, and I stared back, meeting his challenge.

"Look, I know you doubt me, I know you always have. And you're right, I often think of Bag End. I miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden." I told him eyes never really leaving him. "See, that's where I belong." I said sternly. "That's home. And that's why I came back. Because you don't have one."

His eyes widened slightly, a disbelieving look crossing his face. "It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can."

They were the most honest words I had spoken to any of these dwarves in my time here, and something amazing happened as I said them. Thorin Oakenshield dropped his eyes from mine, admitting defeat, allowing himself a small, incredulous smile. The others shared smiles and looks, and I felt my chest swell as I took a real place, an actual place in the company. I wasn't a dwarf, no. I never would be a dwarf. But I was one of the Company, and no one would argue that now.

The sound of warg howls rent the air abruptly, and whatever moment we had was lost to fear and dying light.

"RUN!"

And run we did, like we always do, but run to where? They overtook us soon enough, snarling and yowling, and one leapt right over my head and landed lightly, blocking my path. I stepped back in a panic, drawing my sword that had met steel but had yet to draw blood, and it charged at me headlong. I held up my sword blindly, and the monster rammed itself in the brain up to the hilt. I stared in shock at the now dead animal, hands trembling. I had...more or less killed it. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Thorin.

Speaking of Thorin, the dwarf prince rushed by, striking down two wargs, three, right before my eyes, and Dwalin was not far behind with a skull smashing kill of his own. We were nearing the edge of the mountain, a point where it dropped out of sight, and the only place we had left to go was up.

"To the trees!"

We clambered like squirrels into the pines, and I was momentarily impressed by the speed and skill with which dwarves could climb when pressed to do so. Just in the nick of time, too-the wargs leapt and scrabbled at the bark, biting at our ankles where we cowered.

Then a mighty pale figure approached, and I heard Thorin's exclamation like a whispered prayer.

"Azog."

The monstrosity grinned up at us, speaking in the dark tongue of the orcs, but I understood when it growled Thorin's name. The trees rattled as the wargs tried to reach us, their weight sending the trees leaning dangerously into one another. I lunged for the next tree, clinging to the bark, trying not to close my eyes.

The forest floor burst into flames as Gandalf tried to drive the wargs away, and just as I wondered if we might actually live through this the tree began to rock, teetering backwards, tipping over the edge into nothingness.

"Ahhhh!" We all shrieked and tried to find holds on the branches as the pine went from vertical to almost perfectly horizontal where the roots held fast, our legs dangling over a sickening drop.

I clutched at the trunk desperately, feeling my grip threatening to slip, when the sight before me froze the blood in my veins.

Azog and Thorin were staring at each other, Azog challenging, Thorin's eyes flaming. He rose from the fire like a phoenix, sword in hand, eyes dark with fury yet bright with revenge all at once. I watched in mixed awe and terror, and Balin's words finally made sense to me.

There is a man I could follow.

He charged through the fire, sword held high, and Azog grinned ferociously as he leaned low on his warg and they thundered to meet our King.

The beast leapt, and it struck Thorin down. He landed hard in the dirt, and the warg came back around with a snarl. 'Get up Thorin, please, please get back up-'

He did. He picked up his sword, and he took up his shield, and he faced down another charge from Azog and his white warg with a Kazdhul battle cry. He stared down an enemy twice his size and Azog swung his mace, catching Thorin's chest and jaw and throwing him brutally to the ground. There was no way he could win this.

Thorin was going to die.

I didn't even realize I was standing until I felt the tree rock and had to grab a branch. I didn't know what I was doing, I just knew that Thorin had to live.

Thorin cried out as the Warg clutched him in mighty jaws, and the dwarrow cried out with him, thirteen voices calling his name, begging him to fight, to be strong for them like he always had, clambering and failing to gain their feet. He clutched Orcrist the Goblin Cleaver and struck one final blow across the warg's face and it howled, tossing him hard upon the rocks where he lay still.

Thorin had to live. He couldn't save himself and neither Dwalin nor Balin nor Ori, Nori, or Dori, not Gandalf, not Oin, not Gloin, not Bifur, Bofur or Bombur, not even Fili or Kili could save him from the Orc with a blade at his throat.

I clutched my little letter opener that had finally tasted blood and leapt across the tree trunk. I gathered courage I never even knew I had and tackled the orc threatening the king with the first and only Hobbit battle cry-something between a cry of terror and Thorin's name.

I rolled beneath the foul-smelling thing as it shrieked and tried to smash my head like a ripe fruit, but I scrambled out of the way and managed to get on top of it, stabbing blindly at the monster that tried to kill the only hope for Dwarrow kind.

My blade struck true and the Orc seized and fell still, and I gasped for air but I didn't have time to think about the life I had just extinguished. I stumbled to a stop between Azog and Thorin, daring the beast to take another step.

He smiled, laughing at my show.

"Kill him."

The wargs began closing in, and I swung weakly at the three of them, heart racing. Well brilliant, Bilbo, now the both of you were going to die!

But at least I was going to die protecting something worth saving. Someone worth saving. Someone worth dying for.

"RAAAAAGH!" But I'd forgotten for a moment, that I was not alone. The remainder of the company surged, hacking and stabbing, through the wargs and the orcs the rode them, having clambered out of the tree at last. I managed to slash one in the snout rather well and fended off the blade of an orc, but then the massive white warg came out of nowhere, bowling me over with force enough to knock my breath from me.. Azog closed on me, eyes empty of all but hatred and the darkness of the evil in this world. I backed away, breath hitching, heart racing.

But Thorin had a chance now, with his Dwarves to help him. My job was done. I closed my eyes and waited for death with something almost like peace in my heart.

Suddenly the sky was filled with screeches unlike any I had ever heard, and an eagle large enough to carry off-well, wargs!-swooped down and plucked one of the riders from the mountainside. Then there were five, ten of them, throwing our enemies to their doom upon the rocks.

One swept down and gently lifted Thorin in its talons, and another came straight for me.

"No, no no-AHHH!" It plucked me like a mouse from a field, then dropped me through the air to land hard on the back of another eagle. I clutched two handfuls of the eagle's feathers, trying not to look down.

"Thorin!" Fili's shout rent the air, and I made myself look and saw the dwarf prince dangling lifelessly in the eagle's talons. I felt my heart clench as I watched for any sign of life.

He was too far away, I couldn't tell, and I buried my face in the feathers of the eagle to avoid thinking any more on the subject.

The eagles carried us across the rest of the Misty Mountains in the early dawn and set us down one by one upon a pinnacle rising up amongst the trees like a sentinel.

Gandalf went down second, falling to his knees beside the fallen king. The rest of us stood behind, and I felt my heart crawl up into my throat. After everything we'd been through? For nothing? What was Erebor without her King? What were we without Thorin? Just a company. Well, that was a rather bad analogy, but I was feeling really quite distressed and my mind got away from me a bit.

Gandalf passed his hand over Thorin's face, murmuring words of power. I have never been much of a religious, but I admit that I prayed to...to Mahal and whoever else may have wanted to listen. Thorin couldn't be dead. Not here, not yet.

Then Thorin's eyes opened, pale and clear and very much alive, and I practically collapsed in relief. He took a shallow breath, looking up at Gandalf.

"The Halfling?"

I froze. Was he angry? Did he want me to come over? What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to feel? He had practically just come back from the dead, and he asked for me?

"He's alright. Bilbo is here, he's quite fine," Gandalf assured, moving aside and gesturing for me to come over, and I let out a sigh of relief. He was getting up, hauled to his feet by Dwalin and Kili. He shook them off, and I paled in fear as he leveled an icy gaze on me. Why did he look so angry? Had I done something wrong?

"You! What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!" His voice was raw and ragged, and his steps uneven as he approached me. I stepped back in alarm, unsure where this was going.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place amongst us?"

I felt the hot sting of his words slice me like a knife, and I wanted to cry because I had felt so brave, so brave and important and purposeful at his side, and now he was telling me to go? He was sending me away at last?

Then something changed in his eyes. They melted like a warming river, the change from winter ice to summer springs, so full of light and something else that I couldn't name yet that I felt my throat constrict.

"I have never been so wrong, in all my life."

My chest swelled in a funny way it had never done before, and then Thorin surged forward and enveloped me in warm arms.

He didn't hug me so much as he surrounded me, encircling me completely, pressing me to him with a hand in my hair and my face near his so I could smell his blood and his sweat and his scent of pine and leather and earth. I smiled disbelievingly, my arms barely reaching around his broad chest, and too soon he released me, stepping back and awarding me with the rarest smile on middle earth.

We gazed across the distance, and I wondered if he saw something break inside me too.

"I am sorry I doubted you," he said gently, and I shook my head.

"No, I would have doubted me too," I admitted, lifting my shoulders in a simple shrug. "I'm not a hero, or a warrior…" And then, with a wry smile, "not even a burglar."

The company laughed warmly, and I felt a weight lift from the air.

A screech from the eagles drew my attention as they departed, soaring off along the warm summer currents. When I looked back at Thorin, he was gazing at something beyond me, and as the company's eyes gravitated toward the same place, I turned to see what all the fuss was about. There, settled along the glowing horizon, was a single solitary mountain, proud and defiant, standing against all odds.

"Is that what I think it is?" I murmured, and Thorin strode past me, eyes fixed on the place of his birth, solid determination in his eyes.

"Erebor." Gandalf stated, pride and awe in his tone. "The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle-earth."

Thorin breathed deep. "Our home."

And there, standing against the silhouette of the great mountain kingdom, I saw Thorin in a new light. Strong, determined, steady, defiant. A bearer of the weight of an entire people. And cursed with loneliness for the weight he bore. Just like the mountain he called home.

The pleasant chirping of a bird caught my attention, and the little feathered flyer darted just over his head, right for Erebor.

"A raven!" Oin exclaimed. "The birds are returning to the mountain!"

Gandalf chuckled softly. "That, my dear Oin, is a thrush."

"But we'll take it as a sign." Thorin said, voice lighter than I'd ever heard it, and turned to me, rare smile still warming his features. "A good omen." I smiled back at him, glad his eyes were not near as icy as they had once been.

"You're right." I said pleasantly, looking out to the horizon for a moment. "I do believe the worst is behind us."

And oh, how wrong I was.

* * *

**If I ever slaughter the lore, a translation of Khuzdul or anything else, I apologize. I do try to my research. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**~Sairalindë**


	4. Calm Before the Storm

**Can I just say that the 1977 Animated Hobbit film was truly wonderful? If you've never watched it, you should go do so. It's cheesy as all hell but formed a significant part of many of our childhoods. **

**Thanks for following me this far! You know the drill. Not my babies, read, review, enjoy, etc. **

* * *

**Chapter Four: In Queer Lodgings, the Calm Before the Storm**

The sun was still close to the eastern edge of things, and the morning was cool. Mists were in the valleys and hollows below our outcropping and twined here and there about the peaks and pinnacles of the hills.

Thorin decided that we would hike down to the forest floor at once, disregarding rest and food, and Kili agreed more avidly than anyone else. As the company made its way down the steps that had been carved into the plateau, Kili gripped Fili's arm the whole way down, sandwiching himself between his brother and the granite cliff face as if he were trying to fade into the rocks.

"Not the fondest of heights, Master Dwarf?" I asked, and Fili rolled his eyes before Kili could form an answer.

"That'd be putting it mildly. Can't even look down into a valley from the lowland hills without getting nauseous."

Kili flushed with indignation. "I can too! I'm just not keen on the idea of tumbling to my death is all."

Fili laughed. "I'm not so sure any of us are exactly keen on such things, brother of mine, but that don't mean we get scared stiff of a little drop."

Kili scowled and shoved his brother, who elbowed him back in the ribs.

"Enough, both of you," Thorin growled, and I saw him lean heavily on the cliff. Gandalf's piercing eyes missed nothing, and we exchanged a nervous look. Thorin Oakenshield would be the death of himself if he had it his own way. He moved, faster than I would have liked to see him moving, down to the head of the company to speak with Balin.

An argument had started up again just ahead of me, as Fili and Kili had gone back to their squabbling the second their uncle was no longer watching.

And then the unthinkable happened. Kili's foot slipped on an unstable bit of rock as he was attempting to steal one of Fili's prized daggers from his belt. Fili didn't know what was happening until it was too late, as Kili hit the ground rolling, and rolled right off the edge.

I honestly couldn't remember moving. The next thing I knew, Kili was holding the strap of my pack like a lifeline while I clung to a ledge jutting from the rock a few feet down from the edge. Below us? Nothing but steep, deadly ravine.

"Kili! KILI!" Fili screeched, blond head visible jutting over the edge of the stairs.

"Whatever you do, do not let go!" I yelled down at the terrified Dwarf, who was staring wide eyed at the ravine dwindling below.

"You don't have to tell me twice!"

"Kili! look at me, not at the ground!" I told him, and he obeyed, turning his eyes to me.

"There is a ledge right below you, along the cliff. Can you see it?"

Kili looked in front of him and down, seeing the jut in the rock, and nodded.

"Can you get your feet to it?"

I could hear Kili swallow hard before he answered. "I think so."

I swallowed too, surprised at how calm I was being. "I'm going to swing you a little closer so you can drop to it, alright." Kili nodded quickly, and I held back the unhelpful fact that I could hear the seam ripping on my pack strap.

Three new faces had appeared at the edge, rimming Fili's terrified blond head. He looked more afraid than Kili in fact, who still had his eyes fixed on the ledge about a foot below his feet. Bofur, Dawlin, and Gloin had been closest to the twins and myself, and Dawlin yelled for us to hold tight while he searched for something that might be passable as rope.

"I can't get my feet on it!" Kili called, and I took a deep breath and tried not to panic.

"Alright, I'm going to swing you. Just a tad, enough to get you grounded before you let go."

"Let go!?" Fili yelled, terrified by the prospect. "What if he falls?!"

But I was looking at Kili, who I could tell was trying very hard to be braver than he felt. "I'm afraid I'm not the strongest fellow, so I'm in no place to haul you up. Do you trust me Master Dwarf?" Kili took a deep breath and nodded. I pulled my aching arm up slightly, lifted my pack and turned my body, and Kili swung close enough to the ledge.

And then the strap on my pack snapped. "KILI!" Someone yelled, and It sounded a mix between Fili's voice and Thorin's deep bass as Kili's feet touched the ledge, but he teetered backwards, dangerously off balance. On instinct I put a foot on Kili's shoulder and kicked him forward, and he lurched further onto the ledge,clinging to the cliffside like a barnacle. I nearly slipped myself in the process, and felt my already scrapped and battered fingers start to bleed as I slipped further down the cliff. I didn't so much hear the shouting from above me, as my ears were so full of adrenaline I couldn't even hear myself think. I did manage to lower myself to the ledge next to Kili though, and there was a collective sigh of relief, the most prominent contribution to it from myself.

In a flash of protectiveness, I pushed my arm against Kili's chest, and felt him trembling slightly.

"Hang on laddies!" Dwalin called from above us. "We'll get you out of there right quick!"

As Dawlin and Bifur worked to twine some cloth into passable rope, I breathed out, offering Kili a shaky smile. "Well that was a bit too close for comfort. You alright?"

Kili shook his head, staring at the edge of the outcropping. "I wouldn't say alright. Alive though, has a right fit."

I looked over the edge, and then back at Kili. "You know I used to be terrified of water?"

Kili looked at me strangely. "Really?"

"Quite. Couldn't even go near the shallow pond near Bag End as a boy. We hobbits aren't exactly known for our ability to swim."

"How did you get over it?"

"My father almost drowned in the lake. Only a few inches too deep, but it was enough. I just remember him splashing about, and then being so worried that the water didn't even scare me anymore."

"What happened?"

"I pulled him out. Grabbed him by his suspenders and pulled him shallower. Never forgot how to swim after that."

Kili laughed nervously. "I don't know how you did it master Boggins."

I laughed too, still getting my breath back as my heart bounced around in my chest. "Neither do I. But apparently, I've done it twice now."

"Is that so?"

I sent a nervous smile at Kili. "Did I tell you I'm afraid of heights as well?"

The forests at the foot of the Misty Mountain were dense and green, and we descended into it's cool depths after the fright of nearly losing young master Kili had passed. We could not tell what hour of day it was; in fact, we only stopped because Thorin literally collapsed onto one knee, sweat shining on his proud brow.

"We should make camp," Dwalin snapped, and the rest of us began the process of unpacking gratefully. I had just pulled my blanket out when Gandalf-who had disappeared some time ago, now that I noticed his absence-emerged suddenly from the treeline ahead of us.

"No, pack up your things," he ordered, and Dwalin leveled his most impressive dwarf glare at the wizard."

"We could all use a rest, wizard," he said pointedly, glancing at Thorin, who was drinking deeply from a waterskin.

"I know, which is why I've found a much more suitable place."

We filed one by one through the dappled sunlight, and I saw Dwalin grip his prince's arm several times as if he were going to fall over.

"How much farther, Gandalf?" Fili called, his arm slung under Kili's shoulderblades to keep weight off the ankle twisted during his fall over the ledge.

"Not much farther, Master Dwarf."

"Where exactly are we going?" Thorin growled, and Gandalf gestured to him to calm.

"Very few people live in these parts. But there is somebody that I know of who lives not far away."

"Who is this friend of yours?" Dwalin asked suspiciously, for the trust of dwarves was very hard won and these dwarves particularly so. But Gandalf did not have reassuring words for them, and instead reprimanded them.

"The somebody I spoke of is a very great person. You must all be very polite when I introduce you, which I think I will do two by two-no good can come of annoying him. He is pleasant enough when content, but has something of a short temper."

"Who is this man?" Gloin demanded, and Bofur added, "Couldn't you have chosen someone a bit more easy-tempered?"

"Hadn't you better explain it all a bit clearer?" Ori piped up, and Gandalf scowled from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

"No I could not! Do try not to be a fool, if you can help it," he growled crossly, and then took a deep breath as I had seen him do many times in the presence of the dwarves. Calming himself, most likely.

"His name, if you must know, is Beorn. Now hush, the lot of you, and we will arrive shortly."

It was the middle of the afternoon before I noticed that great patches of flowers had begun to spring up, all similar kinds growing together as if they had been planted. There were all varieties of them, and I felt a sudden twinge of longing for my little garden back at Bag End. Although these flowers would dwarf the hill beneath which I lived. The air smelled of honey and clover, and was filled with a strange droning sound. I leaned in to smell one of the enormous clover flowers and had a bumble bee the size of a sparrow fly out at me, buzzing threateningly, and I stumbled back in alarm.

"These are the edges of his bee-pastures," Gandalf commented, and I moved subtly in between Dori and Ori to put more distance between the monstrous insects and myself. Ahead of us, a tightly woven hedge rose from the ground so thickly that we could neither see nor scramble through.

"I have had quite enough of your wizard riddles," Thorin snarled, brow shimmering, one arm clutched to his wounded chest. He needed help, and soon, and I saw Gandalf's eyes darken. "Who is this Beorn?"

"He is a Skin-Changer. Now wait here. When I call, you may enter-but only two at a time!"

The alarmed look on the dwarve's faces made me wonder first what a skin changer actually was, and then get quite nervous about it. But the wizard took my arm and pulled me along through the high wooden gate into Beorn's complex.

There were four or five buildings, barns and sheds mostly I imagined, and one long, low wooden house. We approached the courtyard, three sides of which were formed by the two wings of the great house, and it was within this that I caught my first sight of Beorn.

He was enormous, even by men's standards, with thick black hair and beard, thick knotted muscles showing on his mighty bare arms. He took a step towards us and I flinched away into Gandalf's legs. He touched my shoulder gently as Beorn (for that is who it had to be) towered over the both of us.

"What do you want, Wizard?" he asked in a deep, gruff voice, and Gandalf smiled pleasantly.

"We thank you for admittance to your home," he said first, flatteringly, and then got down to business. "I'm afraid to say we have lost our luggage and our way, and are in need of help, or at least advice."

"You reek of dark creatures," Beorn interrupted, honey brown eyes leveled evenly on Gandalf. "I have no love for things that crawl in the crevasses of the earth." The Wizard nodded, removing his hat respectfully.

"We have had a rather bad time with Goblins in the mountains," he admitted, and Beorn's bushy eyebrow popped up curiously.

"Goblins? What did you go near them for?"

"We did not mean to," Gandalf almost grumbled, "They surprised us at night. We were coming out of the Lands over West-it is a long tale," he trailed off, and Beorn scowled, seemingly unimpressed. I knew that Thorin needed sleep and medicine, very soon, and although I knew I shouldn't I stepped forward slightly, drawing the attention of the Skin-changer down to me.

"Please, sir, some among our company are injured. They need help or they may die," I pleaded, that thought sending my heart racing. Beorn seemed surprised by my input, and Gandalf had tensed at my speech. The mighty man knelt down so he was nearly on eye level with me, tilting his head curiously.

"And what are you, small one? In all my days I have never seen a creature of your like."

"I-I am a Hobbit, sir," I explained, "Bilbo Baggins at your service." I offered him a handshake, and he took my tiny hand between two fingers and let out a mighty laugh.

"I like this one. You had best come inside so you may tell me some of your long tale," he decided, and gestured for us to enter.

"But where is this company you speak of?" he asked as we stepped inside the dimly lit hall, and Gandalf turned.

"I did not wish to burden you with all of us, on the chance you were busy," he admitted, and Beorn's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"All of us? How many comprise your company?"

"Just several more. I shall call them if you wish."

Beorn shrugged, walking past us with thundering steps. "Call away."

The Wizard gave a shrill whistle, and Dwalin and Thorin appeared, the latter clutching his arm to his chest but managing a steady stride, head high, steps regal. Beorn's expression darkened as he saw them.

"These are not hobbits," he observed, "These are dwarves. I am not fond of your kind."

"You have our apologies," Gandalf replied, "But these are the finest men the Dwarrow have to offer. In fact, this is-"

"Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain," Thorin interrupted, and settled his stance before the Skin-changer. "Me and my company are in grave need of a safe place to rest. We will move on with all haste."

Beorn looked the dwarf up and down, then seemed to lost interest. "If what you say is true, and you are up to no mischief in my lands, then I see no reason not to grant you your request. I see you are in need of medicine as well," he said, although Thorin never so much as flinched, and he nodded to Gandalf.

"You may follow me."

"Well, you see, there are several more in our company," Gandalf interjected, and Beorn sighed.

"And how many is several?"

.

Beorn left us in the entryway after we had all gathered, a bit miffed by 'several' meaning fifteen, but was quite interested in our tale and had already given us his word after all, so went to patrol the borders in search of any pursuing Orcs or Goblins.

"That went better than expected," Gandalf said, seeming quite pleased with himself, and I turned to him with wide eyes.

"You didn't think he would admit us, did you?"

Gandalf winked a twinkling eye. "I had faith in you, dear Burglar. He seemed to take quite kindly to you. Now go see to the rooms, I believe there should be enough for the lot of us."

I nodded and obeyed, taking Kili's other arm as his brother and I helped the wounded dwarf to the room the three of us would be sharing.

"Why did you get stuck with us again, Master Boggins?" Kili asked, and I glanced at him sideways, wondering if he were pronouncing my name incorrectly on purpose. From the twinkling in his eyes I would assume it was an attempt at good humor.

"Most likely because you're both incapable of taking care of yourselves," I said with a sniff, and Fili pushed on the back of my head with a laugh. We pushed open the door to the room we had been designated, and Kili immediately flopped onto the bed with a groan.

"Mahal I think I've broken it," he grumbled, kicking his wounded foot up onto one of the large beds, and Fili rolled his eyes and clambered onto the blankets beside his brother.

"Let me have a look at it," he ordered, and Kili rested the offending limb in his lap. The golden brother slipped the darker's boot off carefully, but still earned an awful lot of racket from his sibling.

"Oooh! Ow ow ow! Ouch, Fili, you'll tear it off!" he whined, but the shoe came off and Fili hissed disapprovingly.

"Not broken, but you'd best not walk on it for a day or so."

Kili grinned mischievously, crossing his legs at the ankles regally.

"I suppose that means you'll have to be at my beck and call," he teased, and the two began to bicker in earnest as I rolled my pack off my aching shoulders. The sound of heavy footfalls drew my attention and I peered out the door to see a familiar pair of figures entering the room across from ours. Dwalin had been bearing almost the entirety of Thorin's weight and a cold hand of icy worry clenched around my innards.

I slipped out of the room and padded across the hall, knocking lightly on the door to the room. I received no answer so I pushed it open cautiously.

"Hello? I thought I might-" I broke off when I saw the state of our poor prince. Dwalin had helped him out of most of his clothes, and the proud prince now lay on his side in near unconsciousness. He was almost covered in blood, bruise and dirt. I rushed to his side with a strangled cry, but before I could touch him Dwalin's broad hands caught my wrists.

"You should not be here," the dwarf warrior said sharply, pushing me back to my feet, and I staggered from the force.

"But-he needs help," I said helplessly, and Dwalin glowered.

"I know that. He would not want to be seen like this."

That gave me reason for pause. The foolhardy stubbornness of dwarves seemed to be unending.

"I don't care if he wants to be seen," I snapped in response, "He needs my help and I'm staying. You can't possibly refuse a set of helping hands."

Dwalin seemed surprised by my sharp refusal, but moved aside slightly.

"Very well. If I cannot keep you from him I will let you help. Get some rags and boil water, then bring them to me."

I rushed off quickly, returning with all possible haste. In my absence Dwalin had gathered balms, stitching supplies and bandages. I gave him what he had asked for, standing tensely at his side for direction. He glanced up at me and realized my purpose, and gestured towards Thorin's head.

"Try to keep him from moving too much. I think he might have injured his neck."

I wondered briefly how exactly I was expected to do that, but sat behind the prince's head. I could hold his head, but that could cause more harm than it could prevent...I moved closer, grasping under his skull and lifting his head until I had settled and then lay his head in my lap where I could keep it still and comfortable.

Dwalin worked in silence, cleaning the wounds with a practiced knowledge that made me feel a bit ill. These men had seen so much death, so many wounds, more than I would see in a lifetime. It was daily life to them, and not for the first time I realized what different worlds we lived in.

Thorin sighed softly, brow furrowed as Dwalin cleaned the puncture wounds in his chest and side from the Warg's teeth. The top right of his chest was mottled red and purple from the strike of Azog's mace, and his jaw clenched in pain. I ran my hands through his long strands of inky hair, wishing I could soothe away the pain, and he relaxed slightly.

"Is he going to be alright?" I asked softly, stroking the hair away from his proud forehead, and the larger dwarf nodded with a grunt.

"He's had worse."

That wasn't really a comfort, and I looked away squeamishly as he began to sew one of the gashes in his torso closed. Thorin murmured softly in distress in his near delirium, and I leaned over, pressing my forehead to his and closing my eyes.

"Shh...you're safe here," I promised softly, even though I knew he didn't need to hear that from me of all people and also that that was actually rather strange and Dwalin was sitting beside me and casting strange glances my direction. I straightened up with a flush, feeling suddenly self-conscious. At my tensing, Thorin moaned again, shifting in distress.

"Don't stop whatever you're doin' on account o' me, laddie. It was workin' well."

I resumed my stroking of his mane, and feeling a bit bored began to put small braids in it. I was hit suddenly by a memory of sitting with my mother in bed braiding her long, soft hair that smelled of soap with flowers and ribbon for a summertime party.

"Alright, he should live," Dwalin decided, wiping a small smear of blood from his cheek. I saw a startling tenderness in the dwarf's hazel eyes as he looked upon his king, and wondered for a moment if perhaps there was more to their relationship than I had originally thought. That was both unsettling and strangely cutting to me for reasons I didn't understand, but I would not find myself surprised were it the case.

"Thank you for your help, laddie," he said softly, and I scooted back to allow him to lift the dwarf king in his arms as easily as if he were a child and move him from the mat where we had laid him to the bed.

"I'll just go," I said softly, standing on bloodless legs, and made for the door, but Dwalin called me back.

"Burglar."

I turned, nervous now. He looked at me with something like sadness on his face, and I didn't understand it at all.

"Stay with 'im for a while, would you? There are others who are wounded and I have to see to 'em. Yeh don't mind?"

"Not at all!" I admitted, and he nodded once and handed me a cool cloth.

"If he wakes, make sure he doesn't get too excited." He took the pile of soiled clothing and departed, leaving me standing alone in the center of the room feeling strange now. I gripped the cloth and approached the bed, gazing down at the sleeping prince. He lost some of his years when sleeping, and I realized I had never seen him asleep before. He was usually the last to settle and the first to rise, the opposite of myself. How old was he anyway? Erebor fell some time ago...had they said sixty years? One hundred? Some unfathomable number, but the face in front of me didn't seem to be much over forty. Who knew with Dwarves though.

He shifted in his sleep, rolling from his back onto his less injured side, his hand curling into a gentle fist. I pressed the cool cloth to his brow, hoping to stave off any potential infection from his wounds. At the cool touch he stirred, and the hand closest to me stretched out and rested against mine. My heart fluttered oddly at the touch, and I allowed my fingers to brush over his.

His eyes fluttered and his brow furrowed, and I knew he was awake more permanently this time and quickly withdrew my hand. He began to sit up with a grunt and some difficulty, and I quickly slipped a hand under his head and offered my support. He got upright and tried to push away from my contact, but swayed.

"Why are you here?" he asked with a rough voice, and I retrieved the water skin I had filled in preparation for his awakening. He took it without a word, draining it.

"To help," I said simply, and he dropped the skin with a deep breath. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and made to stand, and I lurched to my feet.

"You are not going anywhere!" I exclaimed, jumping in front of him to block his exodus, and he glared up at me. I pushed lightly at the left side of his chest and he caught my wrist in an iron grip.

"You think you can stop me, Burglar?" he asked threateningly, and I swallowed. I knew he shouldn't be up and about, and Dwalin had left him in my care. I stared back sternly.

"I will certainly try, Master Dwarf. I have been tasked with your wellbeing and I intend for you to stay in bed until suppertime. Now lie back before you injure yourself irrevocably!" I ordered, and he blinked in surprise. I waited for his swift rebuke with princely regality, but it never came. Instead he chuckled, and I looked down to see him shake his head, and he leaned forward until his forehead rested on my chest. I stilled in surprise, hardly daring to breathe.

"You are a very strange creature, Bilbo Baggins," he said softly, still holding onto my wrist, and I huffed indignantly.

"I've been told. Now back to bed with you," I then proceeded to shoo Thorin Oakenshield, something I had certainly never expected, and he lay back obediently. I retrieved the clean water and sat on the bed beside him, holding up the cloth as he watched me with irritated blue eyes.

"I do not require a nursemaid," he pointed out, but when I pressed the cloth to the jaw that had taken the force of Azog's mace his eyes flicked closed and he clenched his jaw. I lightened the pressure, wishing I could do more for the internal damage than a cool cloth.

"Does it hurt?" I asked softly, and his lips parted slightly as I applied cool water to his cheekbone. His breath ghosted my face and I swallowed hard, wondering at the butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

"Not so much anymore," he replied quietly, and his eyes opened and held me there with their softness. I froze under his stare, and when he reached up and took the hand that was holding his face steady my breath hitched embarrassingly. He moved my hand with his, so much larger and rougher, and placed it against his bare chest. His heartbeat thundered beneath my fingers, and he spoke softly to me.

"I am alive because of you, and for that I am grateful. I should never have doubted you," he murmured, and I pulled back sharply, heart racing, face warm with the strangeness of my own feelings. He frowned at my sudden absence, looking at me questioningly, and I fumbled with the cloth to cover my own discomfort.

"S-Sorry, I need to-go."

I turned and practically fled, running into the semi-solid form of Balin on my way out. He caught my shoulders with a chuckle, either overlooking or not noticing the conflicted expression I no doubt sported.

"Whoa there, easy laddie. Supper is being served, I thought you'd want to know! Is Thorin awake?"

I nodded, recollecting myself with more difficulty than I would have liked to admit, and Balin patted my shoulder.

"Good, we'll all be present then. Off with you, laddie, you look like you could use a good meal."

I hurried away towards the dining hall, grateful for a distraction from the turmoil in my chest.

.

Beorn told us many things over a marvelous supper, including his own history with Azog and his frank disbelief with our quest. However, he offered us a place to stay as long as we needed and for that we were all immensely grateful.

After supper we returned to our rooms, the chill of the valley night settling on the house like a visible mist, and although I went to sleep quite cold and miserable, I woke pleasantly snug beneath a fine blue blanket.

.

The days we spent at Beorn's were the first moments of true peace I had felt since leaving the friendly roads of the Shire, for there were no Orcs at our backs, no Trolls trying to eat us, no Goblins to slit our throats in our sleep. We were all well washed, well fed, and well rested.

I was currently sitting in the courtyard with some of the others, smoking as I watched Kili practicing his archery on the oak stump in the center of the yard.

"He's quite good," a deep voice commented, and I glanced up to see Thorin standing there in a simple teal shirt, missing his usual fur coat and chain mail vest and holding his pipe. "May I join you?"

I gestured openly to the space beside me, and he settled with only a small amount of stiffness. Although none would dare acknowledge it, we were waiting for him to heal before we set off again. He was coming along well, and he lit his pipe and took a deep draw.

"You look better," I noted, and he grunted in reply. He didn't wish to speak on his health, I knew that, but his complete aversion to the subject got on a hobbit's nerves.

"You aren't trained with a weapon," he commented more or less out of the blue, and I blinked in surprise.

"What?"

"When you fought that orc, you were striking blindly," he pointed out, blue eyes leveled on his nephew, the tip of his pipe barely touching his lips. "You killed him mostly out of luck."

I tried to avoid feeling offended, but I puffed up indignantly and prepared to give him a piece of my mind before he blew an impressive smoke ring and glanced in my direction.

"Which is why Dwalin and Bifur are going to teach you." I choked violently on my smoke, feeling it tingle as it came out my nose.

"What?"

"You need training, and there is no better teacher than Dwalin. Bifur is also a skilled fighter, and between the two of them you should be able to acquire the basics before we resume our journey."

I spluttered in protest, but he was already rising, although I noticed him do so with some difficulty. Dwalin and Bifur appeared, wielding large sticks, and I felt a bit sick.

This was not going to be a pleasant lesson.

"Ow!"

"Keep your eyes on 'is hands, they are what control the blade."

"I am trying you know."

"Tryin' will make you dead, Burglar. Move your feet."

Ouch! Does he have to hit so hard?"

"Barahul Ka-az da!"

"He says you swing like a dwarfling female."

"Hey! I-ouch!"

I received a crack to the shins from Bifur's 'blade,' which I was very glad was only a sturdy stick in this training exercise, and resisted the urge to just throw my own stick aside and give up. It would (theoretically) be useful someday to learn to defend myself, but I felt that Dwalin's tactics were less than effective. I fell back as Bifur leapt on me with a fearsome cry, barely fending him away from my face, and I cried out in frustration.

"Nât," Dwalin called, and Bifur tossed his weapon aside with an unimpressed look in my direction. I crawled to my feet, panting, and struggled to my feet. Dwalin folded his arms and sighed.

"We will train again tomorrow. You have much to learn," he muttered, sufficiently dismissing me. I hobbled back to my room in shame, slinking inside and dropping face down on the bed. From the shuffling sounds across the room I knew that at least one of the brothers was home, and when the bed sagged twice beneath identical sittings, I learned it was both.

"Why the long face, Master Boggins?" Kili asked, and Fili patted my head comfortingly.

"I've been beaten black and blue by you dwarves and your training," I complained, and Kili sprawled on the bed across my legs. When these dwarves made friends, they became very familiar very fast it seemed. They also had strange ways of showing affection.

"Why are you doing it if you do not wish to?" Fili pointed out, propping his bearded cheek on one hand.

"Because...I mean it would be handy to be able to defend myself the next time our lives are threatened," I admitted, and the brothers exchanged a look.

"Did Thorin tell you to?" Kili asked, although his tone suggested he already knew it was so.

"Out of concern for your safety, no doubt," Fili agreed, shaking his head.

"Can't have you in harm's way."

"What would he do if you were to be killed?"

I didn't like the teasing tone they had adopted, and kicked the archer in the shoulder blades.

"He is your Uncle! You should show some respect," I reprimanded, and Fili grinned a wider grin than I was comfortable with. He was up to something, they both were.

"My apologies, master Hobbit."

"We would never disrespect Uncle intentionally."

"He is the most wonderful, caring dwarf in Middle Earth, isn't he?"

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at the brothers who had fixed identical trouble making grins on their faces, and I sat up and moved away.

"Whatever you two are up to I want no part in it," I made quite clear, and they just exchanged a look.

"Of course, Master Boggins. No mischief here."

FIli winked. "None at all."

Dwarves are nothing if not honorable, and after every meal the company took it upon themselves to clean up their considerable mess. Today Balin and I were washing and drying Beorn's wooden dishes and placing them in piles. How he managed to feed so many mouths for such an extended period of time was beyond me.

"I hear you've been sword training with my brother," Balin commented, and I sighed.

"If you can call being beaten to a pulp training, then I suppose I have." As I spoke I saw the imposing bald dwarf lumber by the kitchen in the shadow of the prince, who seemed to be getting well again. I wondered again about their relationship as they sat down side by side on the porch through the window, out of earshot, and began to smoke.

"Somethin' on your mind, laddie?" Balin asked knowingly, and I flushed and looked down.

"It's not really my place, but...I was just wondering if Dwalin has a family back home?"

Balin's eyes saddened, and his motions slowed as he lost himself in memories.

"No, Laddie. No wife or heirs for our line," he murmured, and I glanced at their strong backs.

"Does...I mean to say...is there something between Dwalin and Thorin?" It just burst out, and I immediately wished it hadn't. But instead of being offended or angry Balin just sighed.

"I don't know everything about my brother, Master Burglar. I suppose it depends on what you mean by 'something.' There is a very deep bond between them; my brother and I have served Thorin for longer than you've been alive, I'd warrant."

That stung me for reasons I didn't want to think about. I was barely a child in their eyes, a young naive innocent creature from a sheltered life who had to be protected but was not particularly worth their attention.

"So there's no women waiting for them?" I asked softly, and Balin shook his white head.

"There was a lass once, for Dwalin. Long ago. But she's naught but bones and shreds of cloth now, I'd imagine. And Thorin...he's never been the marrying kind. He's got the Lads, and that's as close to a family as he's known for a very long time."

I nodded, moving slow circles in the wooden plate I was drying.

"Not the marrying kind?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity. Balin chuckled, winking and holding a finger to his lips.

"I shouldn't be talking about his personal life, laddie. You know he's a very private person."

But that was as good as a confirmation and I felt a strange swelling in my chest of excitement or something akin to it. But then it sank as Dwalin and Thorin leaned closer, speaking intently about some matter I would never be able to truly understand.

"Does Dwalin love him?"

Balin looked at me oddly for a moment, then his light blue eyes moved to the two silhouettes at the window and understanding seemed to cross his face. I wasn't sure I liked the expression since I didn't really know what was going on myself. He smiled softly, but quelled it before he continued.

"How could he not? Thorin is a very special type of leader who inspires not only loyalty and trust in his followers, but love. We all love him. I can't say if Dwalin loves him the way you're wondering…" his eyes saddened slightly, "But I know Thorin doesn't love him as anything more than a mentor and dear friend."

I nodded, unable to identify the different emotions swirling in my gut. I wondered at how easily Balin spoke of things like this, and thought I might take the chance to ask him more.

"Is that sort of thing, um...uncommon among dwarves?" I asked delicately, and he looked at me oddly again before laughing.

"What sort of thing? Men fallin' in love with men?" he asked bluntly and I flushed but nodded. He chuckled and clapped me on the back.

"You gentle folk never cease to make me laugh, laddie. It's not as uncommon as you might think. You may or may not know this but only about a third of our people are women. With so many more men than women it is not uncommon for Dwarves to take a male partner. Understand that when we choose a mate, it is for life. The other half of the soul is called our One, our Sullu Kurdu. When we discover that person it is a love that can tear down mountains."

"Oh," I breathed, surprised by the poetic nature of his description. "Do you know as soon as you see them?"

"No. It is not about the physical body, but a connection of the soul. We can only know our Sullu Kurdu when we see their soul and realize that they are the one to complete our own."

"Your people have beautiful beliefs," I said softly, and he smiled.

"What about you, Master Hobbit? What do the shirefolk believe about love?"

I shrugged, sure that the simple lives of Hobbits would be disappointing after such grand tales of the Dwarrow.

"We love like we live in the Shire. Gently, warmly, long, and happily. Courtship isn't a flashy affair, but we have great parties for weddings."

"You ever court a lass, lad?"

I flushed and laughed. "No, nothing like that for me. I found most of the hobbit women to be either intolerable or my relatives-or both!" I added as an afterthought, and he chuckled before his eyes glittered mischievously.

"Ever court a lad?"

The flush deepened and I looked down. "No. I, ah...I mean there was someone, when I was young...but he's married with five children now, probably doesn't even remember my name!" I laughed, and Balin nodded knowingly.

"You're young yet. And I've discovered that love is something you find when you're not looking, and where you least expect it."

.

I stood alone in the courtyard holding Sting, staring at the battered oak trunk there. I hacked at it, putting a small chink in the edge.

'He'll never be a fighter, Thorin.'

'I know that.'

Even after a week of nearly solid training I was still considered useless, pathetic and weak by the company. I wasn't worth the time they were spending training me, wasn't worth the mud on their boots.

"Rah!" I struck out harder at the innocent stump, and managed to lodge the blade in the wood. I put a foot on the oak and pulled hard, yanking it free and nearly toppling over. A soft footfall caught me by surprise and I whirled, blade up, and it hit a thick stick with a loud thunk. I found myself frozen by a pair of ice blue eyes and realized I had almost killed Thorin Oakenshield.

"That was a good strike," he said softly, and I drew back with a strangled gasp.

"Thorin! I'm so sorry-I could have killed you!"

He chuckled, lowering the stick. "I doubt that. Do you mind if I watch?"

For some reason I absolutely did mind, I didn't want him watching me attack a stump to release my anger at his company, but I couldn't deny him. He was a prince after all.

"I-I suppose not," I allowed, and he sat down on the side of the porch and began packing his pipe. I turned my attention back to the stump, stabbing it once half heartedly and hacking another chunk out of the side. He didn't let me fail for too long before he stood up and began to circle me, staring rather intensely at me. I tried to ignore his stare, but it was like being in the concentrated glare of the sun.

"Your movements are too choppy. You have power but not coordination," he commented, and I stopped my attack with a huff.

"I've been told. Dwalin thinks I'm completely hopeless."

Thorin came closer, so close I could feel the warmth of his body on my back.

"You're also holding it wrong," he said softly, and my heart almost stopped when he reached his broad arms around me easily to reposition my hands on my sword. He left his hands over mine, engulfing them easily, and together we lifted Sting straight into the night air.

"Widen your stance. Bend your knees slightly," he instructed, and I obeyed, feeling every contour of our bodies fall perfectly in line. His voice rumbled in my ear, and his hair fell over my shoulder.

"You must be fluid, smooth. A sword is an extension of your body, and must be used by every muscle."

We drew it back, slowly slid through the stance into a lunge, moving as one being.

"Feel the way it moves. You have to wield it, don't let it wield you."

We struck faster, every motion connecting to the next, and when we sliced down on the oak stump a section of it fell away as if it were warm butter. I let a grin spread over my face, pride blooming in my chest. I had done that-with a little help, granted, but it was my hands and my blade.

"Very good." He stepped away, leaving me cold and feeling strangely empty, and I turned in time to barely catch the sparring stick he threw to me.

"Now we practice on something that will fight back more than a stump."

I set Sting aside, assuming the stance he had shown me. He held the stick in one hand, the other splayed to the left. I watched him tensely, waiting for him to strike me like Dwalin and Bifur, but he simply shifted his weight back and forth between his feet and waited.

When he realized I wasn't going to strike first he swung a relatively slow slash at my left and I blocked easily. He nodded, then aimed a quicker strike to my right. I fended this off as well, and he nodded his approval again.

He came in low and then shifted at the last second to a side strike, and the sticks jarred my arms as they connected sharply. He was turning up the speed and strength of his strikes gradually, and I knew if he decided to go full on I'd end up with some pretty new bruises.

As he seemed to prepare for another attack I darted in, my stick ending up pressed diagonally across his broad chest. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, because he had obviously not been expecting me to take the offensive. I allowed a grin to spread across my face as I realized I had won.

"That was very good," he allowed, and I stepped back, heart beating fast with pride. "Your greatest advantage in battle will be that your enemies will underestimate you. You are small, but very fast. Never hesitate."

Suddenly his stick was a centimeter from my throat, and I started in surprise.

"And never let your guard down."

He lowered his weapon and picked up his pipe, taking a draw and exhaling a cloud of blue smoke into the cool air. I slid Sting back into my sheath and went to his side shyly.

"Thank you, Thorin," I said softly, and he glanced my direction uncertainly. "I mean, thank you for taking the time to...to teach me. I know I'm not really worth the effort."

Suddenly he was so close my heart leapt into my throat, and one of his hands was pressed to the side of my face, and his eyes burned like blue fire.

"Never say that again," he said in a voice so deep I felt it more than heard it, and when he pressed his forehead against mine with closed eyes I wondered if this were real or if I were dreaming under the influence of Beorn's fine ale.

"You are worth more than you know, Bilbo Baggins. More than you will ever know."

He was gone like smoke, leaving me standing dazed and alone in the middle of the courtyard with a strange ache in my chest.

Thorin Oakenshield would be the death of me.

.

When I approached my room Kili and Fili were both peering out at the door across the hall curiously. I stopped in front of them, folding my arms at their twin grins.

"What are you smirking about?" I demanded, pushing into the room, and they snickered.

"They even sound like each other," Fili commented, and Kili nodded gravely.

"Who sounds like who?" I asked suspiciously, and the darker dwarf swept the blue blanket from my bed and wrapped it round himself like a cloak. Fili pulled my maroon traveling jacket off its hook and slung it about his shoulders as he would not have fit into it, and the elder clasped his hands at his breast.

"Oh Thorin, why are you such a kind and majestic King?" Fili implored of Kili, who patted him on his golden head with a haughty expression.

"Because I have the love of my people, dear Master Baggins. No amount of fear can replace the power of love."

Suddenly Fili flung himself into Kili's arms, and they embraced tightly.

"The power of love! Oh Thorin, you are so regal!"

"Your love is all I need, my Burglar," They made obscene kissing noises and I blanched in a panic.

"S-Stop that!" I shouted, terrified that Thorin would hear them and think I had been talking about him behind his back. In fact I had, but that was hardly the point.

"Why, Master Boggins? Are you ashamed of our Uncle's love?" Kili teased, hugging me around the waist and puckering his lips clownishly. I pushed him away, now getting angry.

"Why are you saying these things?" I cried, furious tears welling in my eyes. They paused, realizing they had upset me.

"We're sorry, Master Baggins," Kili said earnestly, and Fili added, "it was only in fun." So this is what I was to them? A joke? A prank? Something to tease?

"I'm glad the idea that Thorin could love me is so amusing to you!" I burst out before I could hold it back, jerked the blanket from Kili's stunned hands and threw myself down on my bed, curling underneath the blanket so I couldn't see them. They remained silent for a moment before the whispering began, but I didn't care to hear what they were saying.

After a few minutes they came to sit beside me, one resting a hand on my head and the other on my knee.

"We're sorry," Fili said gently, stroking my hair.

"We won't say anything more on the subject. Promise."

I uncovered my head and looked at the two of them, who seemed to have come to some new realization and gazed at me with gentle eyes.

"Good. You're a pair of menaces, you are! Now let me sleep."

I received identical and simultaneous claps on the shoulder as they let me alone with my thoughts, dreams and very conflicted feelings.

* * *

**I think if I didn't ship Bagginshield as hard as I do, I'd be a fan of Dwalinshield and Boffins. But you're reading this so you already know my ship. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**~Sairalindë**


	5. Elves and Spiders

**Hey all! Thanks for sticking with me this far!**

* * *

**Chapter Five: Elves and Spiders**

The edge of Mirkwood forest loomed ahead of us as we rode in single file across the outskirts of Beorn's lands. I edged my pony closer to the brothers as the darkness within stretched out across the land with bony fingers.

"This forest is sick," I murmured, feeling the crying earth in my toes and bones.

We released the ponies to send them back to their master, and Gandalf left us on our own once again. I wished not for the first time for my cozy hobbit hole as we trailed one by one into the arms of the wood. The trees groaned and creaked, and no birdsong interrupted the moaning wind.

As our eyes became accustomed to the dimness we could see a little way on either side with a sort of darkened green glimmer.

'Stay on the path, or you'll never find it again.'

There were black squirrels in the wood, and I sometimes caught whisks of them through the trees. There were queer noises too, grunts, scufflings and hurryings in the undergrowth, but every time I whirled to catch the thing making them nothing was there.

"What's wrong?" Bofur asked, glancing back at me after one such startled whirl, and I shook my head.

"Nothing. Nothing."

The path led us over hill and under tree, across little murky rivers that stank of decay. A forest truly sick with death and madness.

The first night was horrible. Beneath the trees the night was so black that you could not see your hand before your face and the darkness seemed to creep in on the ring of firelight. But we could see the eyes. They crowded close, just outside that protective ring, glittering maliciously and shuffling in the bushes. Sometimes they would appear in the branches overhead when I looked up, and that was the worst. Some of the eyes were horrible pale bulbous things; not animal eyes, but they seemed much too big to be insects.

It was not cold, but the blackness closed in, running chills down my spine as the darkness seemed to seep into me in a kind of bone deep cold. My watch was only an hour or so underway before I began to imagine I would go insane. I shivered against the chill.

"Any sign of trouble?" a deep voice asked gently, and I glanced up sharply to see a shadow sit down beside me. I shook my head and wrapped my arms around my legs, pulling those up to my chest.

"There are just the eyes."

I shivered again as a horrible skittering sound echoed from the forest, and he edges closer ever so slightly. He shifted, and I felt a warmth surround me as he draped his fur vest around my shoulders. I pulled it around me, flushing slightly as his scent soothed my fears.

"Thank you," I murmured, and he just stared out into the darkness with a scowl.

"You should sleep. I will take the next watch," he decided, but I wasn't terribly tired and I knew I would never be able to sleep in this horrible place, so I shook my head.

"I'd rather lend my eyes," I replied, and he seemed to accept my decision for he said nothing. I swept the forest back and forth, back and forth.

"I am indebted to you," he said suddenly, so softly I barely heard him, and I glanced up questioningly. He did not meet my gaze.

"For what?"

"You have saved both my life and the life of my kin. Kili did not thank you, I think. He and Fili...they are my dearest family. They are like sons to me. I cannot repay what you have done."

I laughed, slightly uncomfortable with but mostly intensely flattered by his gratitude.

"You've kept me from death more times than I can name, and will likely do so again in the future," I pointed out, and rested my hand on his forearm. "Your debt is repaid."

He leveled me with a flooring look, eyes blue and deep. I tried to remember how to breathe, but the snickering comments of Kili and Fili made in jest poisoned the thrill I felt under his gaze.

"Never," he murmured.

This made me feel a bit better and we sat in silence for a while. But I wanted to hear him speak, to keep my drooping lids from falling.

"Thorin? What is Erebor like?" I asked softly, and he glanced down, seeming surprised, but complied.

"The mighty halls go down miles into the earth, and you can feel the heartbeat of the earth beneath your feet…"

He told me stories of the glories and beauty of his ancient home, and his eyes sparkled with a remembered happiness that made my chest ache. He had known such wonder, and had it taken from him by force.

His tales outlasted even my curiosity, and I felt the heaviness of sleep overtake me with tides of bass-voiced stories, and I dozed off surrounded by the warmth of a dwarven coat and, although I was not fully conscious of it, a gentle dwarven arm about my shoulders.

.

And then the path was gone. It just seemed to disappear, but in all probability we had wandered away from it gradually, the forest slowly absorbing us into its fold.

"Are we lost?" Ori called from the back, and Thorin paused, shoulders tense.

"We can't be," he muttered, scuffing the ground with his boots in search of the markers. Nothing but forest floor and bracken.

"We must find the path!"

We searched for too many fruitless hours before we found our way blocked by running water. It flowed fast and strong but not very wide, and looked black in the gloom. The rivers and streams felt as sick as the rest of the wood, and Beorn had told us specifically not to drink it or to even touch it.

"Is there any way across?"

We all searched for a bridge or the like, and I spied across the river a small boat.

"There's a boat!" I called, and Thorin rested a heavy hand on my shoulder as he verified my statement.

"How far do you suppose it is?"

"Twelve yards, I'd say. But it is as good as a hundred, if we cannot jump it and we dare not swim it."

"Could we throw a rope?"

"What good would that do? It's sure to be tied, even if we could rope it."

"We should at least try, don't you think?"

"I agree. Bifur, you have the best arm. See if you can get it round the neck."

The Dwarf squinted across the dark waters and swung the rope over his head, nearly hooking the tall neck of the little boat. It fell just a bit short, and he reeled it back with eyes narrowed in determination.

"You can do it!" I breathed, and on his fourth attempt it circled the boat and pulled securely taut. I had to resist the urge to whoop-finally, something was going our way!

He pulled, but the rope stayed tight and the boat did not budge. Dwalin added his strength, and then everyone was piling on to the end of the rope and pulling with all their mighty strength. It came loose from the other side suddenly, and the Dwarrow fell backwards into a large unseemly pile.

"It was tied after all," Balin mumbled, rubbing his head where he had cracked his skull against his hard-headed brother's.

"Good work, men," Thorin commented, and I glanced up at the dwarrow struggling to their feet.

"Who will cross first then?"

"I will," The dark haired prince declared, "and you will come with me. And Kili and Balin. That's as many as the boat will hold at once." I felt a small thrill down my spine that I had been chosen first.

"How will we cross? There aren't any oars," Balin noted, and Dwalin squinted into the darkness on the other side.

"Throw another length of rope with a hook," he suggested, and the message was transferred to Bifur, who lobbed the thing across the water and pulled on it. It did not return, so we assumed it must have stuck in the branches.

"We'll pull ourselves over with that rope. Tie it to the neck," Thorin instructed as Kili hopped into the boat, making it rock dangerously, and Balin joined him more cautiously with a nervous frown. Thorin stepped in next, then offered me a hand in. He wound an arm around my ribs beneath my shoulders and lifted me with startling ease into the boat.

"Master Burglar, keep a good hold of that hook. We'll need it to return the boat to the other side."

I sat at the back and held onto the hook we had first hooked the boat with as Kili and Thorin hauled us across the dark waters. It worked remarkably well, and we had all soon reached safety on the other side.

In this way the others were all ferried across, the final three being Bofur and his kin. Bombur seemed to have a more intense fear of water than was intrinsic in most dwarrow, and clung to the sullen and grouchy Bifur the whole way.

Suddenly the sound of galloping hooves drew our attention behind us and we whirled in time for an enormous black stag to come barrelling out of the forest. I felt a hand clutch the front of my coat and throw me on the ground, a torrent of black hair whipping as swords were drawn, but the creature had no interest in us and leapt over the stream in a single bound.

It so startled poor Bombur that he gave a yelp and threw his arms around Bifur and ducked, and the boat nearly overturned so violent was his motion. The two cousins managed to remain in the boat, but the sudden rock sent the third tumbling out into the dark waters.

"Bofur! Bofur's drowning!" I cried, scrambling towards the stream, but a hand on my collar stopped me short with a sharp jerk.

"Don't touch the water or you'll be lost to us as well," Thorin hissed as the dwarf broke the surface with a gasp, clawing at the dark water. The others had already retrieved another rope and managed to toss it to him so he could tie it round his waist and let them pull him to shore. I broke from Thorin's hold and knelt beside him as he crawled coughing onto the bank.

"Are you alright?"

He was drenched beard to boots of course, but that was not the worst. As he reached for my hand and smiled I saw his eyelids drooping, and he collapsed in my arms, unconscious.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Did he swallow the water?"

"Bofur, wake up!"

I turned him over, still holding his head in my lap, and they administered all manner of techniques to wake him, but none were successful, and though he breathed he slept on like the dead.

"We should not stay here. Carry him, and we will move on," Thorin ordered when he deemed we could wait no longer, and Bifur took his cousin from me gently.

We trudged on until nightfall, when we made camp in a small clearing. Dwalin, who had taken the burden of Bofur most recently, knelt down so we could remove the sleeping dwarf from his back.

"I'll make his bed," I offered, knowing I would be of little use elsewhere, and Gloin lay the friendly dwarf on the ground as I began unpacking his bedroll. I smoothed the blankets down, swallowing the fear I felt.

We had come close, but we hadn't lost anyone. Not for real, we hadn't been close enough to make it feel like this. I rolled the dwarf onto the bed, tucking his pack under his head gently. Even if we couldn't wake him, we could at least make sure he was comfortable. I took his hand, cool and clammy under his damp glove.

"Master Baggins, won't you come to eat?" Fili asked, sitting down beside me with an offering, and I smiled at him but shook my head.

"I just really have no appetite, Master dwarf. Thank you."

The eyes seemed to be growing bolder, and we often heard the sound of laughter and eerie singing through the trees. I set up my own bedroll, on the outer side of the circle to stay between Bofur and whatever lurked in the darkness.

A shuffling came from the dwarrow around the fire, and I looked up to see Ori sitting beside us. He smiled and set about checking the dryness of the dwarf's clothes. As he worked he began to sing softly.

"The greatest adventure is what lies ahead

Today and tomorrow are yet to be said

The chances the changes are all yours to make

The mold of your life is in your hands to break

The greatest adventure is there if you're bold

Let go of the moment that life makes you hold

Treasure the meaning can make you delay

It's time you stop thinking and wasting the day

The man who's a dreamer and never takes leave

Who thinks of a world that is just make believe

Will never know passion, will never know pain

Who sits by the window will one day see rain.

The greatest adventure is what lies ahead."

I clenched my eyes closed and tried not to let myself cry. Ori sang softly and gently, and when he had finished his ministrations he smiled sadly at me.

"Don't lose hope, Mister Bilbo. Just keep believing in him and I know he'll be alright."

He leaned over and squeezed my hand, and I realized I had never taken much time to get to know Ori. He seemed like quite a pleasant dwarf and I decided I would have to make an effort to familiarize myself with him.

I curled up and tried to get some sleep beside my ailing friend, ignoring the eyes that watched me from the darkness and a pair from those around the fire that looked often in my direction.

.

I woke entangled in something horribly sticky and foul like cobwebs. No...exactly like cobwebs! I pulled the stuff away from my face with a cry, trying not to inhale it or get it into my mouth. What sort of nonsense had we gotten ourselves into now?!

A flash of movement caught my eye and I turned in time to see the largest spider I had ever seen coming towards me, eight eyes glittering, mandibles dripping viciously. I drew my sword on instinct and thrust upward the way Thorin had taught me, and the spider shrieked in a strange clicking tongue before it fell from the branch to the ground below. I struggled free of the webs, panting, and ducked behind a trunk as I realized I was in fact surrounded by the creatures.

'Don't panic, don't panic,' I chided myself, and glanced around the trunk to get another look at them. There were six, maybe more, and as I peeked I realized they were clustered around a squirming dwarf sized cocoon of spider thread.

I knelt slowly, picking up a thick stick and tossing it as hard as I could in the opposite direction. They all scampered after it but one, and I took a deep breath. I could combat one alone.

Then I reached slowly for my pocket with a sudden gleam of inspiration. I didn't have to fight it alone. I slipped the ring onto my finger, triggering the strange tightness in my chest and the discomforting feeling of being made of some wispy substance that could blow away if I did not stay grounded.

I turned and struck the spider across its swollen abdomen, and it screeched and whirled on me.

"Where is it?!"

I froze in shock when I realized I could understand the horrid sounds it made as speech, but it moved closer and I lunged smoothly, striking it in the face.

"Ahhh! It Stings! Stings!" It cried, thrashing and convulsing before it crashed to the forest floor with a mighty thud. I caught my breath, leaning on my knees, and held up my little blade proudly. It had now seen the blood of Wargs, Orcs and Spiders, and I realized it was ready to be named.

"Sting. I'll call you Sting," I decided, and then swiftly cut down the thirteen hanging bundles. They tumbled one on top of the other to the earth and lay struggling in a heap until they began to cut themselves out, and I began the clamber down.

"Bilbo! Where's Bilbo?" I heard Thorin's distinct voice shout, and I replied, "I'm up here!"

Suddenly a Spider appeared directly in my face and I fell back with a shout, swinging wildly in alarm. I stabbed it soundly but its legs wrapped around me in a death embrace, and we plummeted together towards the ground below.

The ring slipped from my hands when I hit the bracken hard, and I crawled away from my vanquished foe breathlessly, scouring the undergrowth for my lost treasure. Nothing. I closed my eyes, pressing the balls of my hands into them as I felt a strange surge of panic rising up to engulf me.

"Where is it...where is it?"

I stilled as a soft whispering drew my eye, and turned. There, gleaming in the darkness, a glint of golden metal. My ring! As I made my way towards it the ground moved suddenly, and a strange, pale, horrible creature rose up from beneath as if straight from the depths of the earth. It crawled forward, one claw resting over my ring.

My ring. It's mine! It can't have it! Not my ring, not my beautiful treasure. My precious discovery.

I lunged forward, wielding Sting above my head with a larger war cry than I knew I was capable of making. I hacked and slashed at the monster with all my strength, beating it with the flat edge, cutting it with the blade, blinded suddenly by rage and violence that had never before existed inside me.

When it died, I felt...good. I thrust my sword inside of it and watched it seize, let the life drain out of it across my hands, and tore the metal out with a snarl. I dropped to my knees beside my fallen foe, breathing hard, and retrieved my treasure from the earth.

"Mine," I growled at the animal, backing away and sitting back proudly. It gleamed and glistened even in the murky light, and through it I could see the pale shape of my victim.

My eyes moved over the monster I had slain and I realized that I had wreaked such carnage with my own two hands. It wasn't just dead-it was destroyed. I had killed a living thing...and enjoyed it. I stared at the ring in horror, feeling the beginnings of hyper ventillation.

Such evil over such a tiny, insignificant thing. It was only a ring. A tiny golden ring. I had killed for it, and the thought, 'who else would you kill for it?' briefly crossed my mind. Orcs? Goblins? Dwarves, even?

I clapped a hand over my mouth as I felt bile beginning to rise, but it was too late. I turned and heaved the meager contents of my stomach on the forest floor, stomach twisting until it could not vomit anything else. I sat back, wiping my face, and heard a commotion coming from the direction I had last seen my company. I quickly slipped on the ring and went to investigate.

If the Rivendell Elves were graceful swans, the elves of Mirkwood were like poisonous hummingbirds; fast, beautiful, and deadly. I emerged from the trees just in time to see them taking the dwarves away in a group, the unconscious Bofur draped over Thorin's back. I saw his blue eyes turn back, scanning the trees with a deep look of worry on his face.

I followed them through the forest all the way back to their woodland home, more like an impregnable fortress than Elrond's homely house. Once inside, they were locked in cells and I was left at quite a loss indeed for any ideas how to help them.

I padded up to the door of their cells and sat down forlornly. Quite a mess indeed, one after the other after the other. But nothing for it at the moment, I supposed. I leaned my chin in my hands, picking out each inhabited cell. I could hear them banging about, throwing themselves at the bars or tapping at the stone surrounding them.

They ceased their tantrums after some time, falling silent to plot or sulk. The only two missing were Thorin and Bofur, who had been taken somewhere else in the fortress. With nothing else to do I got up and began to search the massive place for some sign of our absent friend.

After some searching and quite a few wrong turns the smell of herbs and spices drew me to a brightly lit room lined with covered tables, on one of which lay the still form of my friend. I hastened inside as several elves moved about, gathering supplies.

"What is wrong with him?" one asked, and another looked down disdainfully at the dwarf.

"The fool creature has touched the cursed water. They probably tried to ford it."

"Is it our duty to heal their folly?" a third muttered, obviously less than thrilled with the idea of helping the dwarrow in any way. The elf who seemed to be in charge cast a frown at the petulant speaker.

"It is by order of the King. Now help me."

I had heard tales of Elven Medicine, but had never seen it in action. They blended herbs and boiled liquids and murmured soothing words of elvish over Bofur's quiet form, and after a startlingly short time he drew a sharp breath and sat bolt upright, gasping for air as if he had not taken a proper breath in days. Which, in retrospect, he probably hadn't. He looked around in bewilderment, pushing his hat that had slipped over his eyes back.

"Are we in Rivendell? I thought we'd left for Mirkwood...dear Mahal, did I dream it all?" he asked, and the elves exchanged glances before the female touched Bofur's shoulder, easing him back down.

"You were injured in the forest. Please try to rest, you are weak."

"Aye, I'm aware of that lass...I feel as though I haven't eaten in days!"

"It is likely you haven't. I will fetch provisions," the male elf who had been unhappy to help said grudgingly, and Bofur offered him a slightly confused smile.

"Much obliged."

I had to smile despite myself. No animosity could exist between peoples when a figure as kind and jolly as Bofur was the emissary. I watched to make sure they did him no harm and followed them back to the cells, where I nearly ran into the backs of their legs as they stopped suddenly at the top of the stairs. A group of elves quite literally dragged Thorin down the steps before us. He fought each step of the way, but was thrown roughly into an empty cell, where he crashed back against the bars with a snarl and a flash of furious blue eyes through dark hair.

"Did he offer you a deal?" Balin asked urgently, and Thorin bared his teeth at the retreating guards. I almost shrank back in alarm-I had never seen him so savage.

"He did. I told him to go-" He snarled something rather rude sounding in Dwarvish, and I shook my head. Balin seemed to have a similar feeling, as he sighed heavily.

"A deal was our only hope."

The guards came through and I watched them go, then padded up to the dwarf prince's cell. He paced inside like a caged tiger, and I looked around carefully before slipping the ring off and tapping on the bars. He jerked up, eyes narrowing sharply.

"Master Baggins?"

I looked behind me again and wrapped my hands around the bars as he came closer. "What are you doing here? How did you enter unseen?" He asked in surprise, and I held a finger to my lips.

"I'm your burglar, aren't I?" He smiled slightly, honest tenderness in his eyes.

"Indeed you are, Master Hobbit. Can you burgle the keys from a guard, do you suppose?"

"I can certainly try. But won't they notice missing keys?"

"Bring it to Nori, along with a block of stone or wood if you can manage it. He will make a copy of the cell key, then you must return it to the guards."

"Did you see another exit beside the main gate when they took you to Thranduil?"

"I...no."

"What good are keys without doors to escape through?"

"I know that!" he snapped, then immediately lowered his voice. "I know that. But better to have one key than none at all."

I nodded in agreement and turned to go attempt to do his bidding, but an iron hand caught my arm. I turned back partly because I wanted to and partly because he pulled me back as easily as if I were a child.

"Be careful," he said softly, casting his eyes around the chamber. "I don't know what the elves may do to you if you are caught."

I smiled reassuringly, patting his broad hand.

"Throw me in with you lot, I expect, after which I shall have to escape and rescue you all rather daringly."

He pulled me slightly closer, eyes darkening and expression somber. "I mean it."

"I will be. A block of carvable material and one set of keys coming up."

.

The keys turned out to be much easier than I expected. I plucked them from a drunken guard's belt as he staggered back to his position-even the Fair Folk aren't immune to their own fire water. But a conveniently sized carving block proved to be much more challenging, and I began to worry I would be discovered before even completing the first step of our escape plan.

Then I stumbled upon a pile of firewood outside a hallway of closed, ornate doors and blessed my luck profusely. I stuffed the wood under my jacket and secreted back to Nori's cell to complete my mission.

"Nori. Psssst! Nori!"

The dwarf started awake, blinking in alarm, and I remembered to remove the ring before speaking to him. I told him of Thorin's plan and he agreed, and as I stood guard he carved a perfect replica key from the block of wood as if he had done it a thousand times before. Although for all I knew of the dwarf, he had.

"Finished. Test it quickly and get me out!" he hissed, and as I took the key I shook my head.

"We have nowhere to go once we have escaped, Nori. Just planning ahead," I whispered, and tried the key. It slid in and turned smoothly, and I smiled.

"Good work, Master Dwarf. Fine crafting indeed. Thorin is making a plan, so worry not. I will return when we have made it!"

I hurried to replace the guard's keys and dispose of the incriminating wood shavings, then returned, well worn out, to Thorin's cell.

"Thorin, I've done what you asked," I hissed as I stepped up, and he appeared from the shadows like a specter.

"And does the key fit every lock?"

I slipped it into the lock of his cell, turning it and opening the door a crack with a grin. I had done all this myself, excepting the actual carving of the key-who was the burden now?

Suddenly footsteps sounded and I whipped around, but a pair of arms grabbed me round the waist and pulled me and the key back into the cell. Thorin pushed me down onto the floor, holding a finger to his lips sharply, and then lay down mostly on top of me, assuming a position of sleep so that his body completely engulfed mine. I barely dared to breathe as the guards came by, checking each cell and distributing water for the prisoners. Thorin's hair fell around my face and his heart pounded beneath the hands I had braced against his chest in my surprise at being fallen upon, and as the guards moved on his eyes snapped open and focused on me with a shuddering intensity that set off a strange reaction in my gut.

"Are they gone?" I whispered, and he shifted, one hand brushing the hair at my left temple. What tenderness in his eyes in that moment! I moved a trembling hand to the side of his face where Azog had struck him, and his eyes flickered to it although he moved no other muscle. He suddenly released the tension in his body, his forehead falling on my shoulder as he let out a sigh. Before I could adjust to the new situation he had lifted himself off of me and got slowly to his feet, gazing out the cell door.

"You should go somewhere safe. Come to me again on the morrow. We must find a way to escape this place before Durin's day passes us by."

I nodded and clambered to my feet, legs shaking in a way I could not ever remember feeling before. I chided myself and shook my coat out, pressing against the door to unlock it with our master key. Thorin touched the back of his hand to my arm and I turned questioningly.

"Be cautious," he murmured, and I nodded and slipped out into the hall, closing his cell behind me. No matter how close I felt I was to understanding him, I truly believed I would never truly know his mind and I would certainly never know his heart.

.

Our chance for escape came like a miracle. In their reveling, the elves had emptied a good many barrels of fine wine, stacking them on top of one another in preparation to send them down the river. I instructed the dwarves into these barrels, and we reached the first obstacle to our flight.

"Are you crazy? We'll be caught," Dwalin challenged, and I took a step back from his glowering presence.

"No, we won't. Please, you have to trust me," I begged in a whisper, and the dwarves eyed the barrels suspiciously, grumbling amongst themselves. If they didn't get in and just do as they were bloody well told for once, we'd be found out for sure!

"Do as he says," the only voice they listened to ordered suddenly, and I met Thorin's eyes across the room. He nodded to me and heaved Ori into a barrel on top before hauling himself into another. They packed themselves away with quite a dwarvish racket, and after a second or two of silence they peered out at me again.

"What do we do now?"

I gripped the handle that would send them to their freedom or, possibly, their death.

"Hold your breath."

If I had ever been keen on water, I certainly wasn't after our little adventure on the river. My state varied from bouncing about from barrel to barrel, nearly being smashed against the sides, dashed upon the rocks or drowned by the rapids. The band of bloodthirsty orcs trying to head us off made the journey even more difficult, and we did not make it out unscathed.

We crawled onto the shore, sodden and exhausted, and I rolled onto my back, panting and wondering if I had enough water in my lungs to drown on land. The others were still clambering from the barrels, and Kili collapsed almost immediately, clutching his right leg. Bofur knelt beside him, but the young prince shook his head when the elder tried to tend to it.

"I'm fine. It's nothing."

Thorin strode by, glancing at each of us to assess our ableness to travel. "On your feet," he shot to his nephew, and Bofur turned to the leader in alarm as Fili joined his fallen sibling.

"Kili's wounded!" he protested, "His leg needs binding."

"There's an orc pack on our trail," Thorin retorted, "we keep moving."

"To where?" Balin wondered aloud, and I looked at him in surprise.

"To the Mountain! We're so close."

"A lake lies between us and that mountain."

"The orcs will run us down," Dwalin muttered, and Thorin looked to him for guidance. "We've no weapons to defend ourselves."

The dwarves exchanged glances, unsure of what to do. Thorin clambered onto a lookout rock, jaw set.

"Bind his leg, quickly. You have two minutes."

* * *

**On to Laketown!**

**Can I just point out that Thranduil and Bard are literally the most attractive dads in the history of Middle Earth? Like wow. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**~Sairalindë**


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